Randy White: Gone

Behind me, there was another thump of wood hitting fiberglass, then the squeak of a corroded hinge. I looked and saw Olivia’s hand feeling around for the lip of the hatch door. She’d broken the thing free! But the men were so close, they’d heard it, too.

Ricky: “Boat’s empty, huh? Dumbass-get moving!” Then in a louder voice: “Hannah Smith! You’ll get your head blown off, you try tricking me again! Olive? Help that bitch instead of helping your husband, I’ll take me a new bride and make you watch!”

In fact, I was the one helping Olivia, after scampering to the broken hatch, the weight of a nine-millimeter pistol in my hand. I tried to lift the door, then put my shoulder against it while the girl pushed from below. Corroded aluminum becomes pliant as leather just before it snaps if you jimmy it back and forth enough. The hinges were gradually bending while the men continued to talk, their footsteps muted by deepening water where the cruiser floated.

Eugene: “ Somebody’s in there, the boat’s rocking. Why you think she has all the lights on?”

Ricky: “Damn it all… mud just took my shoe. Don’t wait on me!”

“Like bait, so I’m the first one she shoots. There better be some cold beer or- Hey!… You smell something?”

“Keep your paws outta that refrigerator! Olive’s just happy her boyfriends are home, that’s all. Goddamn mud… lose a shoe after everything else.”

“ Propane. Ricky, you don’t smell that? Somebody left the… it’s propane gas! Don’t light a cigarette.”

“Then get rid of the one in your mouth, buddy rough. I’ve had twelve-year-old girls weren’t as nervous… OLIVE OYL! THIS THE LAST TIME I’M GONNA SAY IT!”

“You don’t got to scream at a woman.”

“The midget expert offering Big Ricky Meeks advice.”

Which is when Eugene’s voice called, “ Olivia? It’s me. We’re coming aboard, Olivia darlin’, so be sweet. Hear?”

I had both hands on the hatch when I felt the cruiser shift beneath a man’s weight, then list again to port beneath more weight. It scared me so badly, a charge of adrenaline provided extra strength, and the hinges snapped free with a gunshot WHAP! Instantly, Olivia’s beach bag appeared on the deck, the girl right behind it, whispering, “Run! They’re coming through the door!”

Not both men, though. Olivia had dropped over the safety railing to the ground first, and I had one leg over the rail when the spotlight flashed on, blinding me from twenty yards away. It was a man the size of Ricky Meeks behind the light, a shotgun in his hand-and probably wearing the shoe he’d lied about losing just to trick us.

“I warned you women!” Ricky screamed. “Freeze right there!”

Too late. The light knocked me backward off the boat, but I wouldn’t have obeyed him anyway. When I landed hard on my shoulder at the water’s edge, Olivia was there. She helped me to my feet, then tried to push me into the mangroves. I balked, though, because flashbulbs were going off behind my eyes, plus I had to make sure I hadn’t lost the pistol again. I hadn’t, but it gave Ricky the second he needed to find us with the spotlight and yell, “I’ll shoot!”

Olivia hesitated, her face as pale as a flower in the harsh light, but then sprinted for the shadows. I tried to follow, even blind as I was, but smacked chest first into a tree and fell again.

Ricky pulled the trigger.

WHEN I WAS MIDDLE SCHOOL AGE, MAYBE TWELVE OR fourteen, Loretta ordered me to set fire to the woodpile because bumblebees had built a nest in the ground beneath it. She was convinced it was true because bees had chased her from the chimney side of the house almost to the dock, and Loretta is not a woman who enjoys exercise, particularly running from bees.

“I had a Great-aunt Rosy-on my grandma’s side-who was stung to death fetching firewood,” she had explained. “So our smell might be something insects sense. You know-that runs in the family? I’m only thinking of your own good, Hannah, since the one in charge of wood, come winter, is the most likely to be killed. Plus, you’re faster.”

Not fast enough to outrun a tornado of bumblebees that came spinning out of the ground when I lit that fire. For protection, I’d worn socks as gloves, a hat with mosquito netting, and a U.S. Army jacket my father had left behind. The khaki weave had felt thick enough but wasn’t, so I suffered four or five hot-poker stings before diving off the dock to safety.

Bumblebee stings. When Ricky Meeks fired the shotgun, the pain was similar. Like a couple of hot needles had jabbed me. Not enough pain to keep me on the ground, though, especially with Olivia pulling me by the arm again, yelling, “Run!”

I did-but only after I’d grabbed the pistol.

With Olivia leading, we climbed over roots, crashed through limbs that tore at our clothing, putting all the distance we could between us and the next gunshot. It was too dark to see anything but ghostly shapes, even though my vision was improving. Every yard was painful. Olivia caught her ankle on a root and almost fell. A stub of broken limb pierced my jeans near the thigh, which hurt worse than the pellets that still stung my arm. Which is why we hadn’t gotten far when Ricky yelled, “I see you!” and fired again- BOOM!

Shotgun pellets buzzed us, slowed by a flurry of mangrove confetti, leaves and twigs that rained down on our heads. The shot caused us to stop and crouch low, waiting for more. Instead, all we heard was the man’s labored footsteps splashing near the front of the cruiser, and Eugene’s voice from inside, calling, “What the hell’s going on?”

Instead of answering, Meeks leaned his weight against the boat, waist-deep in water, and used the powerful beam to poke among the trees. If the man couldn’t hear us, I realized, he might be unable to find us. Even if he’d lied about losing a shoe, he was still weak. He didn’t want to risk such a wild thicket-not in pursuit of a woman who’d already shot him once. The same woman getting ready to shoot him again… and that’s exactly what I had decided to do.

No choice, my mind was telling me, and I knew it was true. Which was why I had dropped to one knee, to steady myself, while using both hands to level the pistol. Dark as it was, Olivia knew what I was doing. She touched a shaking hand to my back, a silent question between two people with much in common: Are you sure?

I nodded yes,pleased when the girl removed her hand. Concentration was required.

Trouble was, I couldn’t see Ricky any better than he could see us-even if he’d guessed right with the spotlight. We were separated by walls of vines and limbs a lot thicker than any Army jacket. The only space that appeared cleanly over the pistol’s sights was the cruiser’s prow, a few feet below the bowsprit. It was where Ricky’s head would appear, I guessed, if he moved a few feet, so I held the pistol steady and waited.

From inside the cabin, Eugene yelled, “Goddamn it, answer me!”

“Get your ass out here and help search!” Meeks railed back and then turned to his right as if he’d heard something unexpected. When he did it, the left side of his face appeared briefly above the pistol… but I missed my chance because my finger wasn’t on the trigger. It is a safety procedure I had been taught-the correct way, too-but kneeling in a swamp, waiting to shoot a man who has vowed to rape and kill you, is an unusual circumstance.

My trigger finger dropped to where it needed to be.

Ricky was still behaving as if he’d heard something, so I tilted my head to listen. It took a moment, but my ears found it: foliage rustling not far away, an animal with enough weight to crush branches as it pushed closer. Meeks, of course, suspected it was Olivia and me, sneaking away. Why two women would move toward a killer wielding a shotgun, was a question Ricky probably should have asked himself, but he didn’t.