Frankland cocked his head up as he heard the sound of a rattling little motor echoing from across the road. A dirt bike, he thought, or an ATV. That was how Olson was making his getaway. Olson didn’t even have a proper vehicle. He’d found a gun in a ruin somewhere, and some little Japanese scooter, and that was as far as his luck would go.
Frankland felt his lips turning in up in a grim smile. Spoke the words that the angels sang into his mind.
“Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,” he said.
That was one quote he was sure of.
Nick put Arlette and Manon behind some bushes by the roadside near the broken bridge. “You wait till I call,” Nick said. “Jason and I will talk to the guards.”
And maybe kill them, Nick thought, if they don’t do what’s needed. Kill them with my bare hands. He could do it, he realized. He could do exactly what was necessary. And he found that he was not surprised by this knowledge.
Jason dropped out of the cab to let Manon and Arlette out, then climbed back in. The telescope swung into his lap on its strap.
“Whatever happens,” Nick said, “I need you to back my play.” Jason licked his lips. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to tell them they’re needed at the camp.” Which, he considered, had the virtue of being true. He rolled the truck to the top of the bluff near the broken bridge, turned off the engine, set the parking brake. He could see the jetty down below him, boats bobbing in the water.
“Let’s go.”
He made his way down the red-clay path with Jason at his heels. It was still early morning and the Rails River gorge was deep in shadow.
“Hey there,” a man said from the bushes that lined the Rails.
Hey there, Nick thought with sudden scorn. He could imagine what his father would have said if a sentry had ever hailed him with Hey there.
“Hey there,” Nick answered. “Hey. We got some trouble at the camp.” Two men emerged from where they’d been sitting beneath the bushes. The speaker was a stranger, a grizzled white man maybe fifty years old, but the other was Conroy, the brother who had driven Nick and Jason to the camp on their first day.
“Hey there, Conroy,” Nick said.
Conroy’s unshaven face was uncertain under his baseball cap. “What’s happening at the camp?”
“Reverend needs you back there,” Nick said. “That Olson came back, with a gun.” Conroy and the guard exchanged glances. Hesitated.
“Better get moving,” Nick said. “There’s a bad situation there.” He heard his father’s voice in his head, tried to echo the commanding tones.
The guards’ eyes snapped to Nick at the sound of command. Then Conroy looked down at the walkie-talkie clipped to his belt.
“Can’t call from here,” he said. “Have to go to the top of the bluff.” The two guards looked at each other again. “I suppose we ought to check it out.”
“The keys are in the truck,” Nick said. “The boy and I will look after the boats for you. Hurry!” Nick watched, heart throbbing, as Conroy and the other man labored to the top of the bluff. Conroy lifted the walkie-talkie to his ear, then Nick saw a shock run through his frame. He and the other guard hustled into the truck, started the engine, and drove off.
Nick turned to Jason. “Fetch Manon and Arlette. I’ll get a boat ready.” There were a half-dozen or more boats, either tied to the plank jetty or drawn up on land, but only one boat actually possessed a motor. The rest of the outboards had apparently been taken to the camp and put into storage.
The one boat with a motor was Retired and Gone Fishin’, Jason’s battered old bass boat. American Dream, the speedboat Jason had got at the casino, wasn’t even there. For a moment Nick considered shifting the outboard to another boat. Retired and Gone Fishin’ was small for four people, and there was no canvas top as there had been on American Dream. But then he thought of the delay. It would take time to shift a heavy motor from one boat to another, along with its fuel. The bass boat, whatever its other disadvantages, would be fast under power. He could probably stay ahead of any pursuit. And the bass boat had built-in storage compartments, and the silent electric motor that could be rigged to the bow.
And then it occurred to Nick to wonder where Olson would go once he got his wife and children free of the camp.
He would come here, Nick realized. Olson would have to get a boat and flee. It was the only way he would escape Frankland’s revenge.
He was probably on his way. Conroy and the other guard wouldn’t be able to stop him: Olson would riddle them before they even got out of the truck.
Nick’s heart lurched in his chest. He turned to Jason, shouted, “Hurry!” and jumped into the bass boat. The oars that the Beluthahatchie had provided were still there. There were plastic jugs of water in one of the boat’s coolers, but the compartments were empty. The fifty-horse Johnson had two plastic jerricans full of fuel. Nick wondered if he could find more.
He ran from one boat to the next, checking each in turn. Nothing. Then he turned to the bank and was luckier—four more plastic jerricans sat in the shade under the bluff, ready to be placed aboard any boat that was running low. Next to the jerricans were a pair of box lunches intended for the guards’ midday meal, a plastic jug of water, a roll of actual toilet paper, a blanket, and a bright orange plastic sun-shade held in place with rope and tent pegs.
Nick gave a breathless laugh at the sight. He carried the jerricans two at a time to the boat. By the time he finished his second run, Jason and the others had come down the bluff, and they brought the food and other supplies aboard, including the awning.
Nick got everyone on the bass boat, then cast off. The boat drifted gently down the Rails River as he readied the engine, primed the fuel, worked with the clutch and choke, then pressed the self-start. As the outboard boomed into life, Nick looked at the joy and relief in the eyes of the others. His heart thrilled. It was the most glorious sight he’d seen in his life.
He moved forward into the cockpit and took the wheel. Spun the wheel to correct the boat’s course, pushed the throttle forward.
They were on their way.
“Daddy!” Arlette’s arms came around him from behind. “That was brilliant!”
“Man, Nick,” Jason said. “The way you gave orders, you sounded just like a general.” Joy sang through Nick. He kissed one of the brown arms that embraced him.
“Next stop,” he said, “civilization.”
The bluff parted before them, opening like a curtain sweeping left and right over the stage, and they coasted into the Delta. The still, brown waters of the Arkansas floodplain were littered with wreckage, and Nick had to keep his speed down. He took comfort in the thought that pursuit couldn’t go any faster. He put Jason on the front deck, with one of the oars, to pole off such of the flotsam as he couldn’t avoid. Retired and Gone Fishin’ glided slowly and cautiously through perhaps three miles of maimed, flooded forest before catching a glimpse of the main channel of the Arkansas River through the trees. It was then, just as Nick’s heart was lifting, just as he was about to throw his head back and laugh his triumph to the sky, that he heard the sound of a big outboard booming into life just ahead. Nick’s pulse thundered louder than the engine. He stood in the cockpit to stare ahead, and despair fell upon his heart like rain as he saw a familiar shape easing out from between the trees. It was American Dream, with its hundred-fifty-horsepower motor that could run down the bass boat without even trying. And inside the boat’s cockpit Nick saw at least three silhouettes.