But she paused.
Why wouldn’t she hit him? Why didn’t she kill the fucker?
The cutlery man used the advantage, flailing at Sara’s bad leg, stabbing it with his fork.
Sara cried out, knocking his hand away. She hit him twice more. First in the nose, snapping his head back. Then in his bare neck.
The cutlery man’s eyes rolled up. He clutched at his throat, bucking Sara off and rolling onto his knees. Tyrone saw that the cannibal couldn’t breathe, that Sara must have broken something in his neck.
Cindy crouched next to Tyrone, her arm around his back, burying her face in his shoulder. Sara got to her feet, limping worse than before, then touched Tyrone’s head.
“We need to keep going.”
Tyrone didn’t move. The pain wasn’t what immobilized him. It was the terrible spectacle of watching the cutlery man desperately try to gasp for breath. The madness and evil in his eyes had been replaced by a very human look of raw panic. Seeing that made Tyrone understand why Sara had hesitated.
This wasn’t a monster. It was a human being. A suffering, dying, human being. And it was horrible to watch.
Then the cutlery man brought his rusty fork up to his own throat, stabbed it in, and tore a big hunk out.
The blood sprayed in Tyrone’s face, accompanied by a sound not unlike the whoosh of a fire extinguisher. Then the cannibal raised the fork again, a piece of him still hanging from it, and leapt to stab Sara, who was turned away.
Again Tyrone reacted, both hands up, blocking the cannibal’s attack. Again Tyrone’s raw palm hit the cutlery man’s filthy shirt.
Sara noticed the movement and spun around, dodging the thrust, striking at the cutlery man’s throat and temporarily losing her fist in the hole. She pulled away with a sucking noise, and the cutlery man fell to his knees, then onto his side, convulsing.
The pain built, getting stronger and stronger, and this time when the train hit Tyrone couldn’t handle it and everything went blurry, then black.
Conflicting feelings assailed Sara so quickly she felt like she was playing emotional ping-pong. Rage and pity, fear and triumph, disgust and elation, concern and regret. She wasn’t sure whether to scream, weep, or laugh. Sara held everything back, including the pain in her thigh, and went to Tyrone, lying on his back. She sat next to him, stretching her leg out, and checked his pulse.
Tyrone’s eyelids fluttered, then opened, his wince expanding into a rictus of pain.
“Cindy, the med kit is in my backpack. We need to wrap his hand up.”
Cindy dug into the bag. Sara held up Tyrone’s wrist.
The boy’s palm looked like he’d dipped it in red paint. His whole arm was shaking, and he had a far-off look that made Sara question his connection with reality. She touched his forehead. Cool and clammy.
“Tyrone, can you hear me?”
“Huh?”
“It’s Sara. You need to stay awake. Cindy, when you’ve got the kit, put the pack under his feet to elevate his legs. Also, give me that vial of ammonia.”
Cindy handed over the bottle. Sara avoided looking at the cannibal, who was still twitching. She pulled the stopper and waved it under Tyrone’s nostrils. He tried to turn his head, but she kept it close until he lifted up his good hand to push the ammonia away.
“We have to get going,” Sara said. “Can you understand me?”
“Hand hurts bad,” he mumbled.
“Can you understand me, Tyrone?”
“Yeah.”
Cindy raised Tyrone’s feet, increasing the blood flow to his brain.
“Can you wrap his hand?” Sara asked.
Cindy nodded and got to work. Sara took the time to examine her new injury. It was just a few inches below the previous one, and not bleeding as badly. Sara found an Ace bandage in the kit and wound it tight around both her wounds. Then she checked her watch.
Half an hour until the boat arrived. Hopefully the Coast Guard was en route as well. Sara pulled the radio off her belt and pressed the button.
“Captain Prendick, this is Sara Randhurst. Can you hear me?”
A few seconds of quiet, then, “I hear you, Mrs. Randhurst. I should be there soon.”
“How about the police?”
“I contacted them, and the Coast Guard. Both are on their way. Over.”
Sara pressed the call button, but didn’t speak. She wasn’t sure how to say what she was thinking without sounding paranoid. Not that she didn’t have good reason to be paranoid.
Captain Prendick must have guessed her intent, because when she released the button he was in mid-sentence. “…try it for yourself. Emergency frequency is on channel A, one, five, six, point, eight, zero, zero. Use the word mayday. The Coast Guard will respond. Over.”
“What do I press?”
“Hit the 16/9 button two times. That resets it to the emergency channel. Then hit it two more times to be able to reach me again. Over and out.”
Sara followed instructions, then pressed the call button again.
“Mayday, mayday, this is Sara Randhurst. I’m on Rock Island with several children and we need help.”
After a pause, a nasally voice said, “Mrs. Randhurst, this is the Coast Guard. We have been informed of your situation. Estimated time of arrival is nineteen minutes. We’ll be coming ashore on the north-east beach, over.”
“Thank you so much,” Sara said. She took a quick glance at the still-twitching cannibal and added, “Bring guns. Lots of guns.”
“Roger that, Mrs. Randhurst. Coast Guard over and out.”
Sara clipped the walkie-talkie to her belt and let out a long breath. They needed to get moving. Not only because of the danger, but because Sara didn’t want to sit still long enough to deal with everything on her mind. She and Cindy helped Tyrone to his feet, Sara shouldered the backpack, and the trio got on their way.
The woods were dark. Quiet. Scary. Sara stopped often to check the compass and scan the outlying foliage for pursuers. Tyrone was moaning softly, but not soft enough. Sara was afraid he might be heard.
Cindy whispered, “How much farther?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tyrone is really cold.”
“I think he’s going into shock, Cindy.”
“What do we do?”
“We keep going. Help is on the way. They’ll take care of him.”
A few steps later, Tyrone couldn’t walk anymore. Sara sat him down and handed Cindy a bottle of water.
“Make sure he drinks this.”
“Where are you going?” The teen looked panicked.
“I think I can hear waves. I’m only going a few yards ahead.”
“Please don’t leave us, Sara.”
Sara drilled her eyes into Cindy. “I won’t. You have my word. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Leaving Tyrone in Cindy’s capable hands, Sara pressed ahead. In just a few steps she found something. Not Lake Huron, but something that indicated the water was close.
A boat.
It was on its side, the hull split wide open, vines and overgrowth obscuring the outline. Sara guessed it had been here for years. She played the tiny flashlight beam across the bottom, up the side, to the stern, and the read the fading name painted there.
SS MINNOW
That was the boat from the TV show Gilligan’s Island. But it was also the name Martin had used in his campfire story, when he talked about the party of eight who had come to the island and were attacked.
It couldn’t be a coincidence. This must have been the boat he was talking about. But how could he have known? Unless…