Four Letter Word, page 25
“NO!”
Izzy ducked instinctively at her mom’s cry, just before she heard the gun explode again. The tinted window in the starboard door splintered, spindly cracks radiating outward from a single hole.
Izzy spun around and saw her mom hanging from Alberto’s arm. He must have doubled back to the cabin and tried to shoot her from the stairs, but her mom had stopped him.
“Let go, my love,” Alberto snarled, struggling to maintain his George Emerson persona.
“Leave her alone.” Tears streamed down her mom’s face as she wrestled with Alberto, who was nearly twice her size. “Leave my Izzy alone.”
Alberto’s arm waved back and forth as he struggled to maintain his aim, and Izzy ducked just as he pulled the trigger again. The bullet hit the windshield.
Before he could get a third shot off, Izzy’s mom launched herself onto Alberto’s back. He fell forward and tried to brace himself with the hand that held the gun. The instant the gun hit the floor, Izzy pounced, stomping on Alberto’s wrist. He grunted, still trying to shake off Izzy’s mom, and she stomped again and again, until his grip loosened and the gun slid across the wheelhouse floor.
As Izzy dove for the weapon, a thunderous roar emanated from outside. The ship shivered as if it had been struck by something very large, then the floor fell away, the boat pivoting like a toy caught in a bathtub eddy. Izzy reached for the captain’s chair to brace herself, but the vessel pitched heavily to starboard, and she tumbled into the darkness.
IZZY SLAMMED INTO THE SPLINTERED WINDOW ON THE STARBOARD side of the wheelhouse and felt rather than heard the glass crinkle and snap beneath her. Bodega’s Bane listed heavily to starboard. Right was now down, left was now up, and Izzy realized that they’d just hit one of the sandbars Jake had been so worried about.
The cabin lights flickered, blinking erratically as the generator struggled to keep running, and before Izzy could push herself off the splintering window, a large object fell on top of her with a sickening crack that sounded like an egg dropped onto the floor. Someone groaned, and as Izzy rolled onto her side, she half expected to see Alberto’s gun pointed at her cheek. Instead, Izzy’s mom lay limp beside her.
“Mom!” she cried, turning her over. A trickle of blood traced down past her mom’s ear. “Mom, are you okay? We need to move.”
Not so much as an eye flutter from her mom. She’d been knocked unconscious, either by the fall or by Alberto.
Alberto! Izzy peered up into the wheelhouse. In the flickering lights, she noted that the clipboard was still lodged into the port door, locking it shut, but Alberto was nowhere to be seen.
Icy cold water sloshed over Izzy’s hand, pulling her thoughts away from the serial killer. Water seeped through bullet holes into the wheelhouse, and judging by the spiderweb of cracks in the tempered glass, it wouldn’t be long before the entire pane exploded. The waterline was only partway up the side of the boat, waves crashing into the windshield like they were breaking over a reef, but the boat itself had stopped pitching, which meant they were stuck in the sand. For how much longer, she had no idea, but she had to get her mom out of there while she still had time.
Bracing her sneakers against the metal frame between the windows, she hauled her mom up. Thankfully, as her dad always joked, Elizabeth Bell was a “mite of a woman,” and Izzy, who had four inches on her diminutive mom, was able to heave her over the back of the captain’s chair before scrambling up the dashboard beside her. She had no idea what levers and buttons she activated on her way, but she seriously doubted she’d be lucky enough to somehow wake up the mysterious EPIRB. She had to hope that her Mayday had reached someone.
Getting her mom onto the captain’s chair had been the easy part, but as Izzy half climbed, half clawed toward the port door, she realized that getting her mom out of the wheelhouse was going to be a bigger challenge. Other than the chair itself, there was nothing on the bridge she could use as leverage, just a fire extinguisher, mounted beside the door.
Were the straps that secured it to the wall strong enough to hold their combined weight? Impossible to know until she tried. Worst case scenario, the extinguisher would dislodge while Izzy tried to drag them up to the door, smash through the window below at the exact moment a wave moved Bodega’s Bane off the sandbar, and sink the ship like a lead weight. Best case scenario, she’d be able to open the door and they’d make it out onto the deck of a partially capsized boat in the middle of the worst storm on record with a serial killer whose whereabouts were currently unknown.
Izzy wasn’t sure which was the better option.
Though she supposed “waiting to die” wasn’t it. At least outside the wheelhouse, they stood a chance. Even a slim one.
Izzy stood on her toes and was able to get the tip of her middle finger beneath the clipboard she’d wedged against the door earlier, sliding it out of place. It toppled onto the dashboard before sliding down across the buttons and dials. With the door free, she grabbed the waistband of her mom’s jeans, and with more strength than she thought she possessed, Izzy lifted her mom’s limp body off the chair and onto her shoulder. Panting from the effort already, Izzy slid her right hand around the back of the fire extinguisher. She gave it a little tug, testing its stability. The red canister didn’t budge.
Now came the difficult part. With her mom still balanced precariously on one shoulder, Izzy pulled on the fire extinguisher and crunched her abs, curling her body upward. Her right shoulder screamed in pain, and she wondered if it was being dislocated by the weight hanging from it. Izzy’s view of the port door, now effectively a ceiling hatch, was completely blocked by her mom’s body, and as she blindly flailed for the handle, she wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to dangle there before her muscles cried “uncle!”
She pawed at the door, her fingertips grazing nothing but smooth fiberglass. Once, then twice. The third time she didn’t even make contact with the door. Her strength was draining away.
Izzy inhaled slowly, visualizing the position of the door handle, so tantalizingly close. On the exhale, she contracted every muscle above her waist and hoisted herself toward the door.
This time, she felt metal under her hand. She twisted the handle, releasing the latch.
Izzy only had to get the door open an inch before the wind did the rest of the work for her, whipping the metal and fiberglass from Izzy’s grasp. Left with just one handhold again, Izzy dangled from the fire extinguisher for several seconds as she attempted to get one of her legs up though the open door. Second attempt was the winner this time. Izzy slid one leg onto the deck in the driving rain, and using that for leverage, she slung her mom’s body out of the wheelhouse.
Holding her unconscious mom with one hand so she didn’t slide into the bay, Izzy clawed her way through the now-hatchbacked door out into the storm. It was difficult to see in the driving rain, and the fiberglass exterior of the boat was slick as sheets of water poured across it. Izzy gripped the door frame with one hand, her mom’s arm with the other, and tried to assess their situation. The stern of the ship was still mostly above water, leaving the engine room dry, but the bow was partially submerged. The exterior lights flickered erratically but were still fighting to remain on, and the relentless waves hadn’t been able to dislodge the boat from the sandbar yet.
But the waves were brutal. Some came from the bow, others from behind, and Izzy fought to maintain her hold on both her mom and the door frame. She had no idea how long she’d be able to lie there on her stomach, keeping both of them from disappearing overboard, when a crash of frothy water dispelled that mystery.
Two converging waves must have smacked into one another on the opposite side of the boat because the angry surge that careened over the top of the wheelhouse was so violent it ripped her mom from Izzy’s grasp. She watched in horror as her mom slid feet first toward the starboard side of the bow, which was slowly sinking beneath the waterline.
Without thinking, Izzy let go of the door frame and slid down after her mom. The railing on top of the gunwale broke both of their falls, and Izzy managed get an arm around her mom’s chest, hauling her face out of the water.
Her mom’s head lolled to the side. Izzy couldn’t let go of the railing to even check if she was still breathing, let alone perform CPR if necessary. She braced herself and hugged her mom fiercely to her chest.
Izzy’s arm ached, the metal railing digging into the crook of her elbow while she desperately tried to stay connected to the sinking vessel. She couldn’t feel her fingers anymore, numbed by the icy water. Her mom’s head flopped back and forth with every surge, a marionette whose strings had been cut, and Izzy’s muscles burned trying to keep her mom’s mouth and nose clear. Their clothes were so waterlogged she was sure she and her mom weighed an extra fifty pounds, and it felt as if needles were pricking every inch of her exposed skin. She wondered which would claim them first: drowning or hypothermia.
Suddenly, through the chaos of the storm, Izzy thought she heard something different. An even, mechanical whirr. Was that a boat’s engine, or was her mind playing tricks on her?
A flashing red light appeared from the darkness, followed by the sharp bow of a speedboat, where Jake stood at the helm in an orange life vest.
A BILLION QUESTIONS FLOODED HER MIND, BUT THEY COULD wait. The only thing that mattered now was getting off Bodega’s Bane.
“My mom!” Izzy shouted.
Jake flashed her a thumbs-up and attempted to bring the boat alongside, an almost impossible feat in the heavy surf. Every swell of water propelled Jake upward, while the fishing vessel remained stuck in the sandbar. The speedboat’s engines roared as Jake tried to keep it steady, but he couldn’t maneuver it alone. Finally, he picked up a coil of orange line.
“Tie it on!” he shouted.
Izzy nodded. The only way she could do that without sprouting a third arm was by letting go of the railing. And she’d probably only get one shot.
Jake held up three fingers, indicating that he’d throw on three, then bounced his body as a countdown. The exterior lights dimmed ominously, their intensity fluctuating at random intervals. Izzy tried to ignore the unreliable lighting and focused on Jake.
One. Two. Three!
His toss was perfect, and the rope flew directly over her head as it uncoiled. Izzy felt it hit the deck beside her and released her grip on the boat railing. She slapped at the undulating water where the rope had landed, desperate to feel the rough fibers in her palm, but she was sluggish from the cold, her fingers almost completely numb, and when she lifted her hand from the water, she expected to find it empty.
Instead, her fingers gripped the orange line, which was quickly being pulled through her palm.
She couldn’t even feel it.
Izzy looped the rope around the railing and pulled it taut, tethering the speedboat to Bodega’s Bane. Jake took advantage of a lull in the waves and accelerated toward the fishing vessel. The bow of the speedboat scraped along the hull of Bodega’s Bane, it’s shallow hull allowing it to maneuver around the dangerous sandbar, and Jake deftly grabbed the line. As if he’d been doing boat-to-boat water rescues all his life.
Hand over hand, Jake pulled the two boats together until they were close enough for him to get a hand on Izzy’s mom. He tied off the line with a fisherman’s efficiency.
“Are you okay?” he shouted, leaning over the side of the speedboat.
Izzy nodded, then looked down at her mom as if to say, I don’t know about her.
Bracing himself, Jake reached out. A swell in the waves lifted the two boats, and Jake was able loop his hand through the waistband of Izzy’s mom’s pants, just as Izzy had done when evacuating her mom from the wheelhouse. She heard him grunt, and then, with one fluid motion, he landed her safely in the speedboat.
Jake’s head disappeared for a moment, and when he popped up again, he was smiling. He flashed another thumbs-up, which could only mean one thing.
Her mom was still alive.
Izzy could have cried with relief. They were going to be okay. She pushed herself to her feet, ready to grab Jake’s outstretched hand, when a massive wave bombarded them. The entire fishing vessel was lifted into the air, clearing it of its sandy anchor and propelling it into the speedboat. Izzy felt herself tipping forward toward the water as the wave righted the boat, and she was left dangling from the starboard railing.
Jake threw off the tether, then hit the throttle hard. The engines lurched the boat forward while he cranked the wheel, narrowly avoiding a collision. The lights of the speedboat disappeared back into the storm.
Izzy was alone.
She heaved a sigh of relief that Jake and her mom were okay, even as she swayed helplessly from the side of the boat. Her sneakers dragged through the swells beneath her, signaling how low the boat sat in the water. She had no idea if that meant it was sinking or had just taken on water from being capsized, but she wasn’t going to hang around long enough to find out. She dragged herself back onto the narrow side deck and searched the sea for Jake and the speedboat.
That’s when she saw a dark object racing toward her from the stern of the ship.
Though she shifted her body so her ribs took the brunt of a ferocious kick instead of her face, where it had been intended to hit, the impact sent her airborne, knocking the air from her lungs as she slid dangerously toward the bow.
“You bitch!” Alberto shrieked. He lumbered toward her, gripping the railing for support as the boat tipped steeply to starboard. Rather than fight the movement, Izzy let gravity pull her across the bow, putting some distance between herself and Alberto. She slid faster against the water-slick deck than she’d anticipated and hurtled into the side of the boat so viciously, her head whipped around and smacked the metal rail. Stars swamped her vision and mixed with the erratically blinking lights. Izzy was completely disoriented. She knew she had to move, but she couldn’t quite tell in which direction. Water assaulted her from all sides, but the railing was firm beneath her numb, tingling hands, and she groped at it desperately, pulling herself down the length of the boat toward the stern.
Where was she going? There weren’t many places to hide on a forty-three-foot boat that was half submerged in icy water. She could make a stand and fight back, but without a weapon, she doubted she’d be able to take Alberto down. Another swell of water threw Izzy against the shattered wheelhouse window. Gazing inside, she saw the contents of the bridge glide across the floor. The clipboard clattered to a stop against the leg of the captain’s chair as another object raced by. Dark, matte metal.
The gun!
Izzy wrenched open the door and balanced herself against the frame. If she could get the gun, she had a chance to take down Alberto, but as she stepped into the wheelhouse, she saw a face in the window opposite her. Alberto’s maniacal smile seemed even more terrifying with the strobe-light effect further contorting his features, but as she recoiled, Izzy noticed that he wasn’t smiling at her. His eyes were downcast toward the floor of the wheelhouse.
He’d seen the gun too.
Before Alberto could open the door, the swells shifted, this time pitching the port side of the ship into the air. The clipboard broke free first, skittering past Izzy, followed by the gun.
Alberto’s eyes grew wide as the weapon began to slip down the tilted floor. He threw the door open and launched his body toward the rapidly escaping Glock, but his fingertips missed the handle by an inch as it accelerated directly into Izzy’s waiting hand.
Izzy didn’t hesitate. Not even for a heartbeat. Alberto was on his knees when she aimed the gun and squeezed the trigger repeatedly at point-blank range until the chamber clicked, out of ammunition. She watched with grim satisfaction as his body recoiled from several direct hits to the chest and abdomen.
Alberto flopped onto his rear and attempted to crab-walk backward out of the wheelhouse. He made it as far as the doorway before his legs and arms gave out, his eyes wide in disbelief as he stared up at Izzy, unwilling to believe that she’d been his undoing.
A macabre smile crept across his face once more, spreading as slowly as the red patches of blood on his shirt.
“Izzy,” he croaked. His voice gurgled like a drowning man’s. “Isn’t it delicious?”
Then he slid down all the way to the floor, eyes still open, head lying at an unnatural angle.
Izzy stood rooted to the floor of the wheelhouse, the sound of a powerful motor growing louder in the distance. She’d beaten him, avenged Hunter, saved her mother, but it wasn’t enough. She needed to have the last word.
“You know what else is a four-letter word, Alberto?” Izzy said, not even caring if he was still alive to hear her. “Ciao.”
THE STORM BROKE JUST AFTER DAWN.
Izzy stood at the window of the Coast Guard station, huddled beneath a thermal blanket with a mug of sludgy coffee in her hand as a tentative orange glow pierced the thinning storm clouds, casting an eerie ray of sunshine on the ravaged coast. The feeble daylight revealed that Humboldt Bay had fared well, with most of the smaller boats riding out the storm in the marina. The blue-and-white fishing vessel half submerged in the shallows on the north side of the channel was a notable exception.
She stared at the listing hull of Bodega’s Bane, glinting in the morning light, and wondered if Alberto’s body would ever be recovered.
He’d still been in the wheelhouse when the Coast Guard had pulled her from the foundering boat, but when they’d gone back for him, the body had already been washed overboard. Which sucked. Not because Alberto was dead, but because Izzy didn’t know for sure that he was. Wouldn’t until they located his bullet-riddled, water-logged, fish-eaten corpse. And until that day, she’d never truly believe he was gone.
