“That would explain it.” Rhiannon’s voice was tiny.
The five guys came out of the jungle crowing with laughter, hauling two bulging gunnysacks, just as St. Claire made it to shore with his makeshift raft. Rhiannon placed the sword on the raft and motioned St. Claire toward the boat. Then she untied a rope from one of the sacks. “Can a couple of you fellas come over here and tie up Dowser?” she asked sweetly. “He’s proven unreliable and I want to keep my options open.”
Damn. The old panic surged like bile into his throat. Michael sure as hell wasn’t going to let these thugs tie him up. He crouched. Danny started smirking.
“Sure thing,” one of them said.
Michael would make damned certain it wasn’t a sure thing.
“Morgan might want both a Finder and a Seer or maybe only one,” Rhiannon continued, as St. Claire pushed the raft with the sword out toward The Purgatory. The waves lifted and lowered it. The thugs began to circle Michael. “I don’t know which. Or maybe she can get whatever power Alice had too. How about it Dowser, want to make it a threesome with Alice?”
Michael felt the old fury welling up inside him, the kind of fury he hadn’t felt since the days after Alice died. This bitch was joking about things that were more important to him than life itself, even if he couldn’t sort it all out right now.
One thug came in after him.
Michael felt the fury turn icy and calm. It was still there, but it had turned into a laser, focused, intense. He easily kicked the guy’s feet out from under him and tossed him aside.
“Come on,” he growled. Five of them. The guy he’d just tossed scrambled up.
Two pulled knives out of holders on their belts. Another guy picked up the rope.
“You think you can take all of us?” Danny asked. “We whupped your ass, boy.”
“Yeah. But I was drunk. Sober, I can wipe the beach with your sorry asses.” They were waving their knives. The other guy from O’Toole’s, a Latin type with multiple pierced things on his face, moved his knife back and forth across his body, under a defensive forearm. He actually knew what he was doing. Michael looked at the one who was just aimlessly swinging the knife, but he kicked out at the pierced guy. Take out the big dog first. When pierced guy was surprised and stepped back, Michael punched inside his guard and gave him an uppercut with his full hip behind it. He felt the crunch of bone. Broken jaws hurt like hell. Bet he was down. Four.
Before the guy could even fall, Michael had spun and was on to the man to his first victim’s right. He was almost behind him. Bend the head down. One hard chop to the neck just under the skull. Bring your knee up. Fell like a sack of rocks. Three.
Somebody jumped on his back. He flipped the body over his shoulder, onto a rock sticking up through the sand about two feet. There’s a guy who might not walk again. Two.
Michael stood and spun to face the others, almost on top of pierced guy, who might have a broken jaw but lunged up from the sand and stuck his knife in Michael’s thigh, dragging it down as he pulled it back out. Oops. Back to three. Michael staggered back, blinking to get his vision to steady. Pierced guy was still struggling to get up. Michael kicked him in the head and grabbed the knife.
Michael felt a sting on this upper arm. Shit, Danny had a gun. He dove for the downed palm and flattened behind it amid sand divots from the bullets. There were several guns out now.
“Get him,” Rhiannon yelled.
Michael surveyed his situation. Thirty feet to the jungle. No cover. A bullet could still take him out even in the trees.
“How do we do that?” Danny shouted. “That guy has training.”
“Yeah. Military,” the other standing thug groused. “You never told us that.”
Michael glanced down. Five-inch gash. Bleeding pretty good though it hadn’t caught an artery or he’d be spurting like the Trevi Fountain. Why didn’t he let them tie him up? What good was he to Drew now? And all hope of resurrecting Alice was shot to hell. Can’t think about that, he thought, pushing down the emotions boiling up from his belly. He needed his wits about him.
“You’re supposed to be pros,” Rhiannon yelled. “There were five of you for fuck’s sake.”
He focused on the trees. Had to stay alive. And things weren’t going to improve, bleeding like he was. He pushed himself up to a limping run and zigzagged to the trees, bullets chasing him. Big palm. Go for that. Closer. Almost there.
Damn! He caught one in the right hip. He dove for the shelter of the palm tree.
“Can’t you do anything?” Rhiannon screamed.
“I think I clipped him.”
Michael pushed off again and staggered into the rain forest. His mind flipped through possibilities. He had the knife. Vines made good weapons. Rocks in the stream. He stumbled on. Must be leaving a trail of blood a mile wide. He stopped, chest heaving. Scanning the canopy, he picked out a candlewood tree that towered above him, its first branches high overhead. But a smaller neighbor had fallen against it, the branches cradled in the crotch of a big limb, maybe as big around as his thigh. Both were covered with moss and entangled with vines. Good.
Crashing and cursing sounded behind him. No time to bind up his leg. He’d just have to trust that these creeps wouldn’t think of examining the trees for blood. He put the knife hilt in his mouth and dragged himself up the slanting tree, hand over hand, one leg hanging. Get a move on, he commanded himself, but it was slow going. Could this tree support his weight?
He’d hardly finished thinking that when the branches of the smaller fallen tree cracked. He threw himself toward the crotch of the big limb, grunting as he landed on his chest and scrabbled for purchase. The smaller tree fell with a crash into the ferns and brush below. It was swallowed as though by a green wave.
“What was that?” one of the thugs shouted.
“This way.”
Michael pulled himself onto the big branch and managed to get his leg over it just as the vines and ferns below began to rustle. He stilled his breathing and clamped a hand over his thigh, holding tight to the bole of the tree with the other arm.
“He’s got to be around here somewhere.”
“See any blood?”
Long pause. “There!”
Shit.
“That means he’s heading this way.”
Thrashing branches below him moved off toward the streambed and the boulder where they’d found the sword. Michael took a breath. Danny and friend were shitty trackers. But they’d be back this way when they didn’t find him. Gingerly he pulled his torn shorts apart and looked at the gash in his thigh. Not good. And wounds festered quickly in this part of the world.
He reached for some vines and cut himself a couple of lengths, stripped them of leaves. Then he used the knife to cut off his shorts. Peering at his hip, he realized he was lucky. The bullet wound was a through and through. Entrance in back at the side of his butt, exit just under his hipbone in the front. Bone wasn’t broken or he wouldn’t have been able to walk. He dragged his shorts out from under him and folded them into a pad. He slapped it over the gash and wrapped the vine like a cord around his thigh over the makeshift bandage.
A little light-headed, but he was okay, at least for a while. Wished he had a Delta first aid kit. That coagulant powder would come in handy about now. He also wished he could see the beach from here. Not only because he wanted to know what Rhiannon was up to, but because he’d like to know Drew’s yacht was safe. The bitch-witch wouldn’t endanger a Seer, would she? What megalomaniacal group wouldn’t want to know the future?
She’ll be okay. They need her power, he repeated like a mantra to himself. If Rhiannon or any of her goons touched a hair on Drew’s head, he’d make them sorry.
But there were a couple of little obstacles to that right now. With three of Rhiannon’s men down and two off chasing him, that left only weathergirl and St. Claire between him and getting The Purgatory back. It was the only way off this island at the moment. He slithered down the tree, afraid to ju
mp off and jar his injured leg. Well, slithered wasn’t quite right. He was buck naked and that tree had moss all over it, and a couple of bromeliads he had to negotiate. Better than jumping though.
He needed a gun. Instead of going for the beach, he headed after the two thugs.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Dead calm. I mean not a whiff of a breeze anywhere.” Drew’s father stared up at the slack canvas as though he could will the sails to fill. The boat rocked gently on the glassy sea a few hundred yards from the beach. Drew wanted to scream. So close and yet so far from the sword. From Michael. Rhiannon’s crew had returned to the beach, carrying loaded gunnysacks. They must have found the sword. “Tris? How about that motor?”
Tris crouched over the motor in the stern, tools scattered around him. He stood and shook his head. “She took it out like she could aim that lightning. Fused solid.”
“Can you use your power to make it run?” Drew asked.
“I already tried,” he sighed. “There’s nothing to run. It’s just a big hunk of metal.”
“It’s Fight Club time.” Kemble was staring at the beach with binoculars.
Drew’s heart leaped into her throat. Michael? “Give me those.”
He easily shouldered her away. “Nothing doing.” He winced. “Boy, that hurt.”
“Kemble, you give me those binoculars right now,” Drew ordered in her most menacing voice. Tris and her father had come up behind them.
“Uh, I’m not sure you should see this.” Kemble made a face.
Drew panicked. “Are they hurting Michael?”
“Looks to me like he’s hurting them. Oh, boy. That one’s down for the count.”
Drew realized she’d been holding her breath. To her chagrin, Kemble handed the binoculars to Tris.
“Guy’s got moves,” Tris muttered, as he worked the focus knobs. “Impressive.” Tris handed the binoculars to their father.
They all heard the several loud cracks from the beach. “Oh, my God,” Drew gasped.
Several more shots. Drew grabbed for the binoculars, and miraculously her father let her have them. She twisted the focus knobs frantically, which only made the scene on the beach a blurry collage of beige and green. At last it flashed into focus. Several bodies on the beach. Oh, no! But there ... her eye caught movement. She recognized Michael’s broad back and black hair. He was running into the trees with a decided limp. He disappeared from view.
“He’s alive,” she reported, her voice tight. “I think he was hit, though.” She handed the binoculars to Kemble and sat heavily on the hatch that covered the ladder down to the galley.
“Looks like our Finder found the sword, but they had a falling out,” her father mused.
“Maybe they reneged on their promise to bring Alice back.”
“Maybe,” her father said. But she wasn’t sure he believed it. He probably thought the worst of Michael. Like maybe Michael wanted the sword for himself. Why wouldn’t her father think that? He didn’t know Michael like she did.
“Kemble, get below and see if you can find the launch for this thing,” her father ordered.
“You think it has an inflatable launch?” Drew bit her lip and looked around as though the launch might be hiding in plain sight.
“I hope so,” her father said, as Kemble handed him the binoculars.
*****
Michael made his way carefully through the underbrush, his thigh and hip burning. He was making more noise than normal, what with the limp, but still a helluva lot less than the two goons off to his left. They’d gotten lost in the hundred yards back to the beach. They hadn’t come back to his blood trail, but were now about twenty yards north. Damn. They were going to make the beach before he could get to them. No gun for him now.
“Where the fuck did he get to?” Danny was complaining.
“No idea. He melted into the jungle.”
They came out onto the sand and looked around. “Hey,” one yelled. “Where you think you’re going with our treasure?”
Michael moved up to stand just inside the tree line, where he had a full view of the beach, now cast in shadows. It would be evening soon. The beach was empty except for the three bodies and the smaller of the two gunnysacks of treasure. Guess he’d finally taken out the pierced guy. Just a little late. Rhiannon stood on the deck of The Purgatory. St. Claire was at the wheel.
Great.
“We’ll be back for you, Finder.” Rhiannon scanned the jungle. “In the meantime you might want to reconsider your position about serving Morgan.”
“What about us?” Danny cried. Michael saw pierced guy move. Three remaining. Though probably not for long.
“If he leaves you alive, we’ll pick you up too,” Rhiannon shouted. Then she grinned, and the grin turned into a laugh. The engine turned over and roared into action. The Purgatory turned its prow out to sea. She shouted something else over the motor. Michael thought he heard something about “Seer.”
She was going after Drew. Of course she was. Beyond The Purgatory Drew’s yacht floated helplessly. The world seemed to contract and grow black at the edges. Shit. What was he going to do?
“You let this happen, you sonofabitch,” the thug he didn’t know yelled at Danny.
“Yeah? Like you didn’t?” The shouting turned to shoving.
Rhiannon unwrapped the sword. Clouds boiled up behind the yacht. She was going to use that sword, whatever it did, on that yacht. She might want Drew alive, but whoever else was on the boat was toast. And who was to say Drew wouldn’t get killed or hurt in the process?
Michael did the only thing he could. He ran for the waves. If he had to swim to her, he would. He’d never catch Rhiannon. But he could pick up the pieces, if there were any. And there was nothing else to do.
“There he is!” Danny yelled behind him.
He hit the edge of the water and splashed through the waves.
“What do we care? She can go fuck herself.”
“Yeah, hope he drowns.”
It was tough going through the waves, dragging his leg. He dove into the shallow water as soon as he could, and struck off in the direction of the yacht. He had a pretty strong stroke. But he was going to lose his kick any minute. Once he passed the breakers, he could see The Purgatory closing on the yacht every time his head turned to breathe. Damn it, didn’t anybody on board have a gun? Shoot the bitch dead.
He heard the shot finally, but The Purgatory was idling just out of range. Must not have long range weapons. Rhiannon held the sword up overhead with both hands. He’d thought it was too heavy for that. The gleaming metal caught the afternoon sun. And as she brought it down, it glowed with more than sunlight. A corona so bright it blinded him rose up around it, and then out of that inferno shot a ray of energy, right at the yacht. Everything happened at once. An explosion. The whole forward portion of the yacht sheared off. The mast cracked and began to slowly topple. Something inside the yacht exploded. People were thrown from the yacht in various directions. Drew! Michael was hit with a wave of sound like a physical blow. He tumbled down through water that glowed, the deafening sound muffled.
He fought his way to the surface and bobbed up in time to see flaming shards of yacht falling from the sky. Rhiannon held the wheel of The Purgatory while St. Claire reached over with a marlin hook and dragged something toward the boat. He knew exactly what that was.
Michael struck out again toward the yacht. The sky above him darkened. Waves rippling out from the explosion slapped at him. But he kept going. Now The Purgatory cut her engines and rocked as Rhiannon left the wheel to help St. Claire pull a limp Drew into the boat.
It began to pour rain. He was fading. Lightning forked through the black sky off to his right. The Purgatory’s engines roared to life and churned a wake.
Michael felt Drew getting farther away. He was so frustrated he wanted to scream. Or cry. He swam harder, though he knew it was fruitless. Wind and rain raged around him as premature night settled over the ocean.
&
nbsp; It was over. He’d failed her. He bobbed in the water, gasping as waves slapped over him. Already The Purgatory was tiny, caught in the last sunburst beyond this hell-spawned storm. The pain in his chest as Drew pulled away was wrenching. His stomach clenched in anguish even as his vision blurred and darkened. It occurred to him that he might die out here.
What did it matter? He’d killed Alice, and now he’d failed Drew.
Lightning crashed closer now.
He blinked against the blackness growing at the edge of his vision.
No, damn it. It’s not too late. Drew’s not dead, or you wouldn’t feel her like a hot iron in your gut. He blinked back the water streaming into his eyes, or from them. You turn around, you bastard. And you swim back to the island. And then you’re going to get off that island somehow, and you’re going to find her. And you’re going to kill anybody who’s hurt her.
He shook his head to clear the blackness. It took all his strength to turn away from the tiny speck of a boat. But he did it. He did it for Drew. He could barely see the shore. The hump of the island was a darker shadow in the storm. Far off to his left he thought he saw some wreckage. He heaved in a giant breath and then another, trying to get enough oxygen to fuel his coming effort. A wave slapped him. He sank for a minute then popped up, spitting salt water. He willed limbs turned to stone to work. It was a long way to the beach.
*****
Michael lifted his cheek off the sand, blinking slowly. Everything was a white glow that hurt his eyes. Had he died? Would he see Alice again? Only if the afterlife was hot as hell. He was sweating. Alice hadn’t mentioned sweating in heaven. His throat screamed at him. What he wouldn’t give for a drink of cool water. The pain of the white light receded as his eyes adjusted. A big shape, darker than the sand, loomed out of the corona of light. Damn, but he hurt all over. Sun beat down on him. That was why he was hot. And what he was seeing was....
He's A Magic Man (The Children of Merlin) Page 21
