F Wilson - The Dark at the End

Or did he have a chance? Could his attackers have left him for dead?

He couldn’t afford to allow himself to believe that. He had to assume they’d be back.

The flickering light from the garage flames revealed a ladder built into the bulkhead near the stern of the boat. He forced his shuddering muscles to move and kicked toward it. Focusing his remaining strength, he used his good hand to grip the side rail. His feet found a rung and he pulled himself half out of the water. Even at full strength, climbing the ladder with one hand would present a challenge. In his current condition it seemed insurmountable.

And then the boat recoiled on its rope and the stern bumped him, almost knocking him off the ladder. He managed to hang on.

The boat.

He released the ladder and swung his right arm over the transom. He found a handhold on the far side and clung for all his life. He swung his damaged arm over the edge and hooked the crook of his elbow there. The stump screamed with pain but he ignored it and kicked off the ladder. Slowly, painfully, he wriggled himself onto the transom, then tumbled over onto the deck.

He allowed himself a few seconds to lie there gasping, then struggled to his knees. The boat seemed to be secured by only a single line. He untied it and felt it begin to drift away from the dock… toward the bay.

This was it. This was his answer, his escape route. All he needed were a few moments and he’d drift out of the lagoon into the open water of the bay. Once there, he’d be beyond their reach. No one else out here had a boat. The dark and the snow would swallow him and he’d be free. He’d The boat banged against something and lurched to a stop. He looked up and saw it scraping against the far bulkhead. The wind angled out of the lagoon but also across it, and was holding the boat against the bulkhead.

He was stuck.

No!

His attackers could return any minute. They’d find him and take their time using their guns to reduce him to ground meat.

He thought of climbing out and crawling into the brush, but they’d see the boat and guess what had happened. His best bet still was out on the water.

He crawled to the bridge and hauled himself onto the seat before the steering wheel. The keys were in the ignition.

Did he dare? He’d been fooled once.

But he had to think that his attackers wouldn’t booby-trap both the car and the boat.

He realized he had no choice. He might die if he turned the key, but he would certainly die if he didn’t.

Jack found the can in the garage and hefted it-damn. Just a tiny bit sloshing in the bottom. He – froze as he heard the faint sound of a diesel engine sputtering to life.

What the-?

The boat! Rasalom had reached the boat. Jack couldn’t imagine how, but he knew how to stop it.

He grabbed the second Stinger and a BCU and raced back toward the dock, shoving the cooling unit into the grip as he ran. The boat’s engine was roaring now, full throttle no doubt.

Jack arrived in time to catch a glimpse of its stern as it raced from the mouth of the lagoon into the open water of the bay. The snowy darkness swallowed it, leaving him no target.

Then he remembered he didn’t need one. The Stinger was a heat seeker. All he had to do was fire it and it would find the boat and ram itself up its exhaust pipe.

He rested the launcher on his shoulder, aimed where he’d last seen the boat, and pulled the trigger. For maybe two seconds he followed the blazing yellow streak of the missile’s rocket engine as it flashed across the water, just a few feet above the surface. Then impact. The explosion lit the night-high explosive plus whatever diesel fuel was in the tank. The swirling snow and mist enhanced the glow as Jack watched bits of flaming debris pinwheel and tumble in all directions-bits of Rasalom among them, he assumed. He hoped. He prayed.

The One is the None.

But was he?

He’d survived everything else Jack had thrown at him. Could he have survived that?

Jack had hit him with everything he had, but still he wasn’t satisfied.

What would satisfy him?

Pumping Rasalom’s lifeless body full of kerosene and watching it burn, adding more as needed, poking the burning flesh to make sure it was fully consumed, then taking the ashes up in a plane and scattering them over the ocean.

Yeah. Then he’d be satisfied.

But unless Rasalom’s body washed up somewhere, he was going to have to make do with this.

He checked his watch. Four minutes gone. The neighborhood was due for lots of company-the flashing-light kind-real soon.

Time to clean up and move on.

His Glock brass had ejected into the water. The last 40mm buckshot empty remained in the thumper’s chamber. He picked up the other casing and trotted back to the O’Donnell garage where he policed the HE empties. They all went into the Vic’s trunk along with the Stinger launchers and the M-79.

A quick trip through the house to retrieve his Leica and the remotes. He’d worn gloves since the wipe-down, so no worry about prints.

At the five-minute mark he was backing out of the garage. He left the doors open to guarantee that Dawn’s body would be found. He’d call later to identify her.

He made it to Route 27 without passing anyone and was halfway to Amagansett when the first police car screamed past going the other way. The road was slick and the Vic had rear-wheel drive, so he took it easy.

He called Gia.

“How’s everything?”

“Fine. We’re at Weezy’s.”

He felt like he’d been punched. “ What? You and Vicky?”

“You sound surprised.”

Surprised? Try shocked. The last people he wanted involved with that baby were Gia and Vicky. Dawn, Gilda, and Georges were dead because of that child. It was dangerous, it was bad luck, it was “How-?”

“Weezy called and said she needed help, so we came over.”

Weezy called… Jack clenched his teeth. She should know better.

Or should she? She hadn’t seen him sucking his mother’s blood off his fingers. To her it was Dawn’s baby-one weird little baby, but just a baby.

Was he overreacting? Could be.

He forced calm.

“How’s the baby? Making that noise?”

“Not anymore. Vicky read to him and in ten minutes he was asleep. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Safe and sound and on my way back. You’re heading home?”

“Soon. You going to stop by?”

“Your place? Hope to. Gonna stop off and see Glaeken first.”

“Be careful out there. I hear the roads are awful. What? Weezy wants to speak to you.”

And he wanted to speak to her. Did he ever want to speak to her.

“Okay. Bye. Love ya.”

“It’s over?” Weezy said when she came on.

Jack stayed cool. The baby was asleep, Rasalom was dead, Gia and Vicky were okay and were headed home.

“Think so. Hope so.”

“You’re not sure?”

“Couldn’t be. Circumstances wouldn’t allow. I hit him with everything I had. I do believe he sleeps with the fishes.”

“Let’s hope. By the way, you know who I love?”

“Who?”

“Vicky. The little lady hath charms to soothe the q’qr breast.”

Jack loved her too. More than life. That was why he wanted her far from that little monster.

“Yeah, Vicky’s the best.”

Jack ended the call then leaned back and sighed. What was done was done. He just wished he could be sure Rasalom was done.

Uncertainty gnawed his gut all the way back to the city.

Ernst had been switching back and forth between the city and the Long Island stations, waiting for news of an incident from somewhere between the Hamptons and Montauk. Exactly what that incident might be, he had no idea, but he’d know it when he heard it.