"Why?" Chester asked innocently, still peering into the darkness.
"Because the Limiters are on the beach."
"They're shooting at us, dimwit," Cal spoke up. On the starboard side, no more than fifteen feet away, Will noticed a small tick of water flick up from the sea's surface.
"Shooting at us?" Chester repeated, slow to take in what he was being told. "Shooting?!" he exclaimed as he figured it out at last, immediately fumbling to extinguish the lantern. The light off, he sat up and swiveled around in the direction of Elliott. He was flabbergasted at how calm she was. The volley continued, with further splashes all around them — they seemed to be coming closer. Chester flinched each time.
"If those really are shots…" Will began.
"Certainly are," Elliott confirmed.
"…then shouldn't we be rowing like mad hooligans?" Will asked, tightening his grip on the oars in readiness.
"No need, we're well out of range… they're taking potshots." Elliott allowed herself a small laugh. "We must've really ticked them off. But it would be one in a million if they hit us."
Will heard Chester grumble something to the effect of "With my luck," as he tucked his head protectively into his shoulder, simultaneously trying to get a view of the island in the pitch-black.
"I've got them exactly where I want them," Elliott said quietly.
"You've got them exactly where you want them? " Chester's voice wheezed with incredulity. "Surely you—"
"Slow fuses," Elliott interrupted. "My specialty."
The tone of her voice told them nothing, and they all waited, with just the sounds of the creaking boat and the swirling water around them, and the odd splash from the continuing gunfire.
"Any second now…" Elliott said.
A flash lit up the stretch of beach from which they had set out to sea. It looked deceptively tiny to the boys over the distance. Then the sound of the blast reached them, making them all jump.
"What the—" Cal exclaimed, sitting up.
"No, wait…" Elliott said, holding up her hand. Her outline was thrown into sharp relief by the far-off flames. "If any of them lived through that, they'll be falling over themselves like scalded rats to get inland and away from the beach." She began to count, inclining her head ever so slightly with each number.
The boys held their breaths.
A second explosion, far mightier than the first, erupted with massive red and yellow starbursts that streaked high into the cavern, their plumes leaping over the tops of the tall fern trees. It seemed to Will that the whole island must have been blown to smithereens. They all felt the force of the blast on their faces, and pieces of airborne debris were already falling into the water around them.
"Blimey!" gasped Cal.
"Awesome!" said Chester. "You totaled the island!"
"What the heck was that? " Will asked, wondering if there'd be anything left of the wildlife, or whether it would all be engulfed by fire — though he had to admit that if a few shabby primordial chickens got their tail feathers singed, then he wasn't overly concerned.
"That was the clincher," Elliott said. "The perfect ambush…and the first explosion drove them straight into it."
It was as if the flames were floating on the surface of the sea itself, sending long reflections across the inky waters. For the first time Will could gauge the vastness of the space they were in: the far-off coastline to his right was dimly lit up, but there was absolutely nothing visible in the direction they were heading nor any sign of land at all to his left.
With the sound of the explosion still resonating around the immense cavern, debris continued to fall close to the boat, much of it burning until it hit the water and sizzled out.
"Did you set all that up?" Chester asked Elliott.
"Drake and I did. He called it his 'party trick,' although I never understood what he meant," Elliott admitted. She twisted away from the spectacle, her features hidden within the impenetrable blackness as the nimbus of fiery tongues silhouetted her. She slowly bowed her head as if in prayer. "He was so good… a good man," she said, in not much more than a whisper.
As Will, Chester and Cal marveled at the inferno on the island, none of them uttered a word, sharing her sense of loss for Drake. It was as though the burning island was a funeral pyre, a fitting send-off for him — not only was there a glorious light extravaganza in this unlikeliest of places to honor his death, but also some of his enemies had been brought to justice.
After the sober moment of reflection, Elliott spoke up.
"So, how do you like your Limiters done?"
She began to laugh jubilantly.
"Rare," Chester replied, quick as a flash. The boys joined in with her laughter, hesitantly at first, but then roaring so loudly the boat rocked.
Sarah was shocked from her torpor by the first explosion, and by the second she was on her feet and racing down to the water's edge, with Bartleby following close behind her.
She whistled at the sheer size of the blast and immediately brought up her rifle, wrapping the sling around her arm to hold the weapon steady. Through the scope she scrutinized the fiery point, so small over the waves. Then she slowly moved the rifle away from the island, combing back and forth over the watery horizon. The glow radiating from the fire enabled the light gathering scope to function highly effectively, but it was still some minutes before she spotted anything. She adjusted the magnification on the scope, trying to clarify the image.
"A boat?" she asked herself. In the extreme distance there was no way she could tell who was in it, but she knew instinctively that it wasn't the Styx. No, in her gut she knew that what she sought was in that boat bobbing on the waves.
"Looks like we're back in business, my old friend," she said to Bartleby, who was flicking his bony tail as if he already knew what they were going to do. Sarah took a last glance at the burning island, and her lips curled into a malicious smile. "And I suppose Rebecca will need to draft some new Limiters."
44
"Get it together," Elliott urged from the helm as Will and Chester pulled on the oars, still not in sync with each other.
"Where exactly are we going?" Cal called out to her. "You said you would take us somewhere safe."
There was a splash as Will misjudged his stroke, his blade skipping across the water. Elliott gave no response, so Cal tried again.
"We want to know where you're taking us. We have a right to know," he insisted. He sounded peeved; Will knew that his leg must be bothering him.
Elliott turned from her rifle. "We're going to lose ourselves in the Wetlands. If we make it that far." She paused for several uneven oar strokes, then spoke again. "The White Necks won't be able to track us there."
"Why?" Will asked, wheezing from the exertion of rowing.
"Because it's like… like one big, never-ending swamp…" She sounded uneasy, as if she lacked conviction in what she was saying, and this didn't give the boys much confidence, since they hung on her every word. "No one in their right mind ever goes into those parts," she continued. "We can lie low until the Styx give us up for lost."
"These Wetlands, are they deeper? Below where we are now?" Cal asked, before Will had the breath to ask.
Elliott shook her head. "No, it's one of the outlying areas of the Great Plain that we call the Wastes. Some of the fringes are just too dangerous because of hot spots… Drake never let us spend more that a few days there. It'll suit us for a while, then we'll move on to some other places in the Wastes. They're a lot easier to survive in."
The boys remained silent after that, each left alone with his thoughts. Her words rang in their heads — the Wastes didn't sound very promising, but none of them felt terribly inclined to ask any more questions.