Slow Burn: Bleed, Book 6

by Adair, Bobby

  I was sitting in the back of the boat, eyes closed, the wind buffeting me while I seethed. I hated Jay for what he’d done to us the night before. It irked me to think about what he might be doing to Steph. I hated running away.

  Murphy sat in the back of the boat with me. Unfortunately, so did Freitag. Dalhover was rummaging around in the cabin, seeing what he could find. The others were gathered at the helm, making a plan. I was making my own plans, thinking about the best time and the best way to get back on the island, perhaps administer a little rough justice to Jay and his buddies, and rescue Steph.

  Murphy, never content with quiet time, said to Freitag, “Don’t get me wrong on this. I’m thankful and all for what you did. I just don’t get it. Why’d you help us? I thought you hated Zed.”

  Curious about the answer, I listened, but Freitag said nothing.

  Murphy asked again, “Man, you might as well spill the beans.”

  That was apparently all the prodding Freitag needed. In her delicate, vulnerable voice—a guise, I was sure—she asked, “Am I in danger now? Did I make a mistake?”

  I said, “Don’t buy it, Murphy.”

  “Buy what?” he asked.

  “She’s playing her helpless act on you,” I answered. “She’s a lot tougher than you or me.”

  Murphy looked at Freitag. “So, you’re tough?”

  “No,” she answered.

  “Yes, she is,” I said.

  Freitag turned angry dark eyes at me. She was regretting her choice to help us.

  “Look,” I said, “I’m not being mean. You don’t need to play the woe-is-me game. I think you have a talent for manipulating—”

  “You are a pig.” Freitag turned in her seat so that she could look out behind the boat. “I should have let them kill you.”

  “Listen.” I waited for Freitag to look back at me.

  She didn’t want to.

  I tried to take any sense of confrontation out of my tone. “Please turn around. Let’s talk.”

  Without saying a word, Freitag turned, making it seem as if she’d been tortured into compliance.

  I said, “Thank you for helping us. Thank you for helping me.”

  Freitag nodded, but just barely.

  Continuing, I said, “I don’t mean to insult you. I really don’t. I think you’re really good at hiding behind a vulnerable façade, but—”

  Freitag frowned and started to turn back away.

  I reached over and put a hand on her arm.

  She looked down at it as though I was diseased.

  I guess I was. I pulled my hand back. “You don’t need to play games with people to get your way. You don’t need to pretend you’re something you’re not. All I was saying is that you’re a lot tougher and smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

  “So you’re going to say nice things, so you won’t feel guilty because I just saved your life.”

  “No,” I shook my head. “That’s not it at all. I still think you’re mean, ruthless, and vindictive, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see your positive characteristics, as well.”

  Murphy laughed loudly.

  Freitag spat, “And you’re a reckless, egotistical cockroach.”

  Murphy laughed again, “Zed the cockroach. This is some funny shit.”

  “A cockroach?” I was offended.

  “Because no matter what anybody does,” she said, “you just crawl out of the rubble like nothing happened.”

  I thought about it for a minute. “So that’s a compliment?”

  “If it makes you feel good to be called a cockroach, then yes.”

  “Jesus,” I said. “If you hate me so much, why’d you help us?”

  Letting go of her control, Freitag raised her voice, “You may think you’re some high and mighty good person, running around and trying to be the hero all the time, but you don’t see that other people are good, too.”

  Murphy laughed some more.

  I nodded. “Okay. So you’re a good person. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I just saved your life.” Freitag sneered so expressively that I thought she might lean over and bite me. “You hate me and that’s fine. But you saved my life in the cove last night. I just repaid the debt, that’s all. We’re even.”

  “Okay, but I don’t hate you. Why do you hate me?”

  “For what you did to Harvey.”

  “Who the fuck is Harvey?” I asked.

  “You chopped off his hands,” Freitag spat, “with your stupid little sword.”

  “Oh, Bird Man,” I said. “He shot Murphy in the head. What the fuck was I supposed to do?” I’d raised my voice. My anger was slipping out. I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. But you know what happened. You know it was a bad situation.”

  Freitag looked at the deck and then back up at me. “I can’t forgive you for it. And I don’t want to.”

  “Fine. Now that we’re even, do I need to worry about you fucking me over again?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.” Freitag looked at me with open hate on her face. “You’re a piece of shit. You always will be. But I know you won’t fuck me over first.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “Because you could have killed me in that house when you stuck me with that canoe with the hole in it.”

  Murphy laughed. “That was a funny story.”

  “I told you,” I said, “I’m not a murderer.” Though just saying it I knew I was trying to convince myself as much as her.

  Dalhover came up out of the cabin with a handful of items, one of which was a hammer. He crossed the deck and extended the hammer handle to Murphy. He said, “I thought you’d like it.”

  Murphy accepted the hammer. “Not as good as my hatchet, but it’ll do. Thanks, Top.”

  Dalhover nodded and turned to say something to Gretchen.

  Freitag said, “I would have killed you if the tables were turned.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have,” I responded, shaking my head. “You may think you’re that kind of person, but you’re not.”

  “You don’t know me very well.”

  I looked her up and down as though I was going to read some information from her clothes, from her shape. Mostly I was just thinking. I said, “You could have killed me when you ditched me down the river.”

  “I thought I was killing you.”

  “No, if you’d really wanted to kill me, you could have shot me, or let me jump in the water to swim out to the boat and run me over. If you’d wanted to kill me, you could have.”

  “Maybe I’m just not very good at killing.”

  I sat back in my seat. “I think you’re just not as bad as you think you are.”

  “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know,” I countered, and then asked, “Are we good?”

  “We’re fine. Just don’t ever try to touch me again.”

  I reached a hand over the stern, cupped some water, and made a show of scrubbing my hands together in front of her, because I’m just that mature.

  Chapter 17

  We’d been on the water for maybe an hour and were cruising slowly past a marina hidden in a cove, looking for a suitable place to hide the cabin cruiser and ourselves. Conversation in the back of the boat had come to a halt after the hand-washing display, and my mood was sinking as I ruminated over the things that were bothering me. Primary among them were Steph and what Jay and his macho dipshits were up to with their hillbilly hunting rifles and their pigment-based sense of superiority.

  Memories of what had happened to Amber haunted me. I never got past the guilt of leaving her in that dorm with that band of fucktards. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if that was exactly what I was doing to Steph, leaving her alone in the hands of fucktards who were going to harm her. The more worked up I got, the more I believed I could wrap a Rambo bandana around my head, sharpen my machete, swim out to Monk’s Island, and kill
bad people until the wrongs were righted.

  I jumped to my feet suddenly enough that everyone in the boat looked at me, which was just what I wanted. I said, “So, here’s the deal. I’ve thought about this. I don’t care what Jay is or isn’t expecting. I’m going there and I’m getting Steph, Amy, and Megan, too. I don’t give much of a fuck about what Jay thinks he’s going to do about it.”

  “That’s a bad idea,” Gretchen said. “I think it’s best if we wait.”

  “I understood your argument the first time,” I told her. “Repeating it isn’t going to change my mind. I’m going to do this. I’m not asking for any help. I’m not asking any of you to take a risk and come with me. I’m going to do this because I have to. It’s that simple.”

  Everyone was silent, probably still thinking about what, if anything, should be said to me about my announcement.

  Dalhover, who’d been leaning against the windscreen, said, “You’re just going to head over there with no plan at all, no weapon to speak of except that machete, and hack your way through twenty or thirty people, all of whom might want to shoot you. Is that your plan?”

  I wasn’t about to accept the condescension. “I don’t have to have a plan to decide to do something. I just have to decide. I’ll figure it out along the way. Who’s there on the island, Gretchen, a bunch of housewives and accountants? Does anyone there have any military experience? None of the guys that took over the houseboat looked military to me.”

  Shaking his head, Paul said, “No, no. You can’t just go over there and kill people to get what you want. We know those people. They’re good people. Some of them are our friends.”

  “Some of them might be good people.” I looked at Paul and then at Gretchen. “But the ones that put us on this boat, the ones that decided that we needed to die, those aren’t good people. I don’t know how many on that island are good and how many are bad. I really don’t know much of anything about what happened on your island while we were quarantined on that house boat, but enough of them backed Jay that he didn’t have any qualms about coming out to the houseboat with murder on his mind.”

  Gretchen turned away. Paul put an arm around her.

  Then I felt a little bit bad. “Look, Gretchen, Paul. I don’t want to hurt anybody but Jay, and maybe some of the dudes on that boat. But I’m not letting them do whatever it is they think they’re going to do. Because I know that whatever Jay is thinking, in the long run, it’ll turn out badly for Steph and everybody else on that island. Jay needs to die.”

  Murphy said, “You’re getting a list.”

  Shaking my head, I said, “I’ve only got two on my list: Mark and Jay.”

  “Here’s what I think,” Dalhover said. “I’ll help you, Zane. But we have to do this smart. The last thing we need to do is get Steph, Amy, or Megan hurt.”

  “Thanks.” I gave Dalhover a nod.

  Murphy said, “I’m in.”

  Rachel said, “If you’re going, so am I.”

  “No, you’re not,” Murphy told her.

  Rachel stood up, nearly as tall as Murphy and, in her way, just as formidable. “I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but if you think you can tell me what to do, you don’t know me as well as you thought you did.”

  I don’t know why—maybe I’d seen too many movies. I looked at Freitag.

  She shook her head and said, “You must be dreaming.”

  I shrugged. I didn’t expect her to lend a hand. In fact, I didn’t think I needed anybody’s help. I was more than ready to do it all by myself.

  Dalhover said, “Now that we’re all on the same page…we can’t go off on a Zane crusade right this minute. We have to plan and do this smart.”

  Chapter 18

  We docked the cabin cruiser in an empty slip next to a houseboat among dozens of other boats. That kept it pretty well hidden. Of course, the smart thing to do would have been to sink it, erasing any clue as to our whereabouts. That thought never occurred to any of us at the time.

  Murphy was the first one off the boat, and I was right behind him. Several Whites were hiding in the morning shade under the dock’s canopy, probably wondering what the cabin cruiser was and whether the people getting off of it were of the tasty variety.

  Murphy and I were the first two off the boat for a reason.

  A long, straight dock ran down the center of the marina, and the Whites were at the far end. Murphy and I headed right toward them. As we neared, they first seemed curious. They stood up and postured aggressively, hoping to drive us off, as whatever was left of their brains made the determination that we were coming for them. By the time we were a dozen steps away, the Whites were afraid and backpedaling until their heels were hanging over the water.

  Murphy took a businesslike approach and raised his hammer as he got within a few steps. I had my machete up, ready to hack when the first one lunged. I was certain that one would. They were simple-minded beasts, and backed into a corner, would turn on us.

  But they didn’t.

  First one, then the others, turned and dove into the water.

  “Motherfucker.” Murphy was surprised.

  I looked at Murphy and agreed. “Motherfucker.”

  “Fucking swimming Whites,” he said. “That island’s not going to stay safe.”

  “No.” Watching the Whites swim slowly and clumsily across a hundred yards of water toward shore, I said, “This changes everything.”

  Running footsteps on the boards behind us reminded me that talking out loud was almost always a mistake. I spun and raised my machete. A White was only a few dozen feet away and running at full tilt.

  Murphy stepped back a bit, knowing what was coming.

  Just as the White got within reach, I swung my machete around in a fast arc that ripped through his throat. The White tumbled to the boarded walkway, bouncing his face on wood as he came to a rest at my feet. Blood gurgled out of his open throat while he twitched and tried to move.

  “Might as well get the rest of ‘em.” Murphy called up the dock, “Hey, buddy! We’re right here!”

  Murphy’s hollering had the desired effect. Another White came running from the far end of the dock. Four more popped up from places where they’d been hidden on the decks of boats.

  “You got it okay?” he asked.

  I gave Murphy a glance. “As long as I don’t have to shoot any, I’m fine.”

  “If you get in trouble, I’ll jump in. Cool?” replied Murphy.

  I readied my stance and held my machete back, ready to hack.

  The Whites tumbled out of their boats and rushed toward us. The one from the far end of the dock began sprinting in our direction. Murphy’s words had him convinced that we were edible despite our skin color.

  When the runner got within reach, I swung my machete around and caught him across the throat just as I’d cut his predecessor. I had to step aside as his momentum carried him through the place where I’d been standing. He tumbled into the water.

  The other Whites were busy doing me the favor of not coming together in a gang but at intervals of twenty or thirty feet, leaving me plenty of time to dispatch each before the next arrived. The last of them was a young blonde woman in one of the tiniest bikinis I’d ever seen. She was also the wiliest of the bunch.

  My throat-slashing technique worked perfectly on all except her. When I swung, she was ready. She ducked under my blade and plowed into me with all of her momentum.

  I fell, losing my machete as I hit the deck. She was immediately clawing and biting; whether trying to kill me or eat me alive, it didn’t matter. I was punching wildly and pushing, trying to keep her teeth off my skin.

  Murphy grabbed a handful of her long, oily hair, pulled her head back, and punched her hard in the temple. That stunned her for a moment, and Murphy punched her again, and a third time. Her eyes rolled back and she went limp.

  “Fucking bitch.” I crawled out from under her.

  Murphy smashed her face into the dock a few times and
rolled her into the water. She splashed and floated face down.

  “You all right, man?”

  I looked down at myself. “Embarrassed.”

  “That you got tackled by a chick?”

  “That I got taken down by somebody whose IQ is a hundred points lower than mine.”

  Murphy chuckled. “Or both.”

  Still checking myself, I nodded and bent down to pick up my machete. Looking up, I saw Rachel up on the deck at the bow of the cabin cruiser, worry on her face.

  Murphy raised a thumb to indicate that we were okay.

  She nodded, looked around, and squatted on the boat’s deck.

  I followed Murphy over to the cabin cruiser. To Rachel, he softly said, “The marina is clear for the moment. Me and Zed’ll go check that brown houseboat up there. Get the others.” Murphy looked at me. “You ready?”

  Smiling, I said, “Ready to get beat up by another blonde?”

  Murphy chuckled, and we jogged half the length of the marina’s main dock to arrive at the stern of a houseboat similar to the one we’d been quarantined in the night before. Showing its age, its paint was oxidized and its metal fittings were rusted, leaving thin trails of orange down the sides of the boat.

  Murphy stepped off the dock and onto the houseboat’s stern. I jumped across beside him.

  Looking at me, he asked, “You wanna knock?”

  I stepped over to a closed door and did so.

  We waited. No sound came from inside.

  I knocked again. I looked up and down the dock to see if any other attention was being garnered.

  Nothing.

  “Try the door?”

  I tried the knob. It was locked.

  Murphy looked around. “I don’t want to kick it in. Let’s check around.”

  There was no side deck on the boat, so I climbed a stairway that led to the rooftop deck, but there was no door down from there to the boat’s interior. “No way in up here.”

  Murphy looked around again. “You see anything?”

  I shook my head.

  He jumped over to the dock and walked up along the walkway beside the boat, reaching across to check each of the windows he passed. He cursed quietly under his breath after trying each one. They were all locked.