As the generators started, the noise in the metal room became deafening, and I winced. Clutch rewet his scarf. He held the bottle to me, and I took a long drink before soaking my thin bandana.
“Ready?” He yelled. “We have to close the bay doors now!”
I could barely hear him but nodded. “Okay!”
He grabbed my hand and put it on his belt. “Don’t let go!”
After taking a couple deep breaths, he opened the door, and we headed back into the smoky mechanical bowels of the towboat.
The smoke had faded some—probably due to my propping the door open rather than any fires being put out—making the return trip not quite as terrifying as our first time through. My throat was raw, worse than any sore throat I’d ever had before. The smoke was acid to my already stinging eyes. I closed them and held onto Clutch’s belt loops as he clumsily took the steps as quickly as he could.
I had to steady him several times when he lost his footing or didn’t get the crutches leveled right on a step. I grabbed my bag, and we burst through the crew quarters and shower room. Finally, when we climbed the stairs and reached the last door, Clutch threw it open, and we tumbled inside the galley. I kicked the door shut, and we both lay there, gasping slightly better air. Who knew how badly the boat or its barges had already burned. Worse, who knew how many zeds the smoke would draw to our location.
“Are you okay?”
I looked up to see Benji standing over us, Frost’s Great Dane at his side. Diesel was as tall as the short boy and just as lovable.
“Benji.” I propped myself up on an elbow. “What are you doing here? You should be in the barge.” The words came out rough, like I was a lifelong smoker.
“Grampa told me to stay in here. He heard the engines start and said he was going to close the big doors.” He pointed up, referring to the bridge.
“Good,” Clutch said and then coughed.
Outside I could hear shouting. I rubbed my eyes with my bandana and climbed to my feet. Through the windows I could see people running across the deck. Several were pulling a large water hose. “I guess I’d better get out there and help.”
As I kneeled to help Clutch, the door leading to the deck opened. Three men entered, with their pistols raised. In the middle stood Sorenson.
I froze. Neither Clutch nor I could draw our weapon in time, and with Benji and Diesel in the way, I’d never get a clean shot, anyway. Benji didn’t move. Instead, he just stood there between us and them. He was likely frozen with fear, but it didn’t matter. He was going to get himself killed.
I reached out to pull the boy behind me.
“Don’t move,” Sorenson ordered. “And get down on the floor now.”
I stopped mid-reach. I could hear Clutch’s breaths next to me but was afraid to make eye contact with him. Don’t be a hero, I mentally said to Clutch. I sat back on my heels, waiting for, hell, I had no idea what I was waiting for.
Benji cocked his head. “Are you here to help us?”
Sorenson frowned while he scrutinized Benji. He waved with his pistol. “Move to the side, kid. We need to get upstairs.”
Benji didn’t move. Diesel’s shoulders bunched aggressively and his hackles rose as he stood next to his small master. A deep growl came from his throat and his teeth were bared.
Sorenson was trying to get upstairs? Why? To get to the bullhorn? To open the bay doors again? I glanced at Clutch, but he had on his poker face. I stayed silent, not willing to take the risk of pissing off Sorenson even more.
Benji patted the dog before looking up at Sorenson. “Are you going to use that gun? Because I don’t like guns. They’re loud. My mom shot a gun by my ear once. It hurt for a long time.”
“Only if I have to, kid,” Sorenson replied. “Now, get out of my way. I’m in a bit of a hurry and don’t want to hurt you. I need to unhook those barges from this boat.”
“Why?” Benji asked.
“Because some of those barges belong to me,” he said.
“Why?” the boy asked again.
“Listen, kid. They just do. I need what’s on them. Enough.”
Benji crossed his arms over his chest. “No.” he said sharply. “You look angry. People do bad things when they’re angry.”
Sorenson could’ve shoved the boy out of his way. Instead, he took a deep breath and his expression softened. “They hurt my daughter.”
“My mom got hurt once.”
“It’s tough out there, kid. So you see, I have no choice. I need what’s on those barges.”
Benji shook his head. “Grampa says that people always have choices.”
“Well, your gramps is wrong.”
“Nuh uh.” Benji shook his head even harder. “He’s never wrong. He’s really smart. He’s been around a really long time. He’s old. Like you.”
Sorenson smirked and one eye narrowed. “Yes, I’ve been around and seen plenty. I’ve got to say, I liked the way things used to be a whole lot better than they are now.”
“I did, too,” Benji said. “I liked school. I had a lot of friends.”
Sorenson’s lips tightened. After a moment, he held up the hand not holding a pistol. “We’re leaving.”
“What?” the man at his side asked. “But the barges—”
“We’ve done enough for one day.” Sorenson cut him off with a hard glare. “Everyone’s had enough hurt for a lifetime. We’re heading back to the Lady.”
The man who had spoken seemed pissed, while the other looked relieved.
As they backed up to the door, Benji waved. “Bye. Be careful out there.”
Sorenson gave Clutch and me one final glance before he turned to leave, like he’d just remembered we were still there.
“Game over, asshole,” Jase said from the doorway, his rifle leveled dead-to-rights on Sorenson.
His men jerked around. “You move, I shoot,” Frost said as he squeezed inside.
Clutch yanked up his rifle, and I went for my sidearm.
“We were just leaving,” Sorenson said slowly.
“Not now, you aren’t,” Jase replied much more quickly. “Drop your guns.”
Sorenson eyed Benji and then spun his pistol and handed it over to Jase. The other two men dropped theirs.
“Benji, are you okay?” Frost asked, cranking his head just enough to see his grandson while keeping his rifle aimed at Sorenson’s pals.
“Grampa!” Benji said. He tapped his leg. “C’mon, Diesel!”
The Great Dane’s growling dissipated and he trotted alongside the happy-go-lucky boy to the older man, both oblivious to the showdown of firepower under way. Sorenson watched as the pair bounded past him.
“Did they hurt you, son?” Frost asked, tugging Benji against him.
“I’m fine, Grampa,” he giggled. “No one hurt me.” He pointed to Sorenson. “He’s just sad because his daughter was hurt, that’s all. He wasn’t going to hurt me.”
I took a big breath and leaned into Clutch, who was breathing just as heavily. He knew as well as I did that the only reason we were still alive was because of a boy. A boy with Down Syndrome just proved that a little bit of kindness was sometimes more powerful than all the brute force and guns in the world.
SLOTH
The Fourth Deadly Sin
Chapter XVII
We held Tack’s funeral the following morning.
Griz had used his Ranger skills and somehow managed to climb onto the riverboat and cut down Tack’s body sometime during the attack without getting caught. Tack had been executed—shot in the head. That he hadn’t been beaten was little consolation to any of us.
Deb refused to leave Tack after he was brought on board. When I stopped by to offer my condolences while she was preparing his body, she seemed oblivious, completely lost in her own world. By morning, she’d regained her composure and now stood strong, her blotchy cheeks and swollen red eyes the only outward signs of her mourning.