P. Alderman - A Killing Tide

They rolled, grappling for the gun. The gas can toppled, spraying gas in all directions, some of it hitting Kaz. She shook her head to clear the burning liquid out of her eyes, trying to focus on the two men. They rolled toward the stern, fighting silently, viciously.

Sykes landed a punch, then managed roll on top of Michael and slam his head into the deck.

Kaz whimpered. Positioning the cleaver, she sawed it back and forth against the edge of the tape, her hands now so numb that she couldn't control the angle of the cleaver or what she was cutting. She felt something warm flow ever her fingers, but she kept sawing.

Michael scissored his legs, throwing Sykes to the side. Sykes raised his gun. Michael gripped his gun hand, deflecting his aim. A second, deafening shot went wild.

Kaz felt the tape on her hands give and she wrenched them apart, then sat up to work on her feet. She was almost finished when the gun went off again. Her head flew up, terror locking her throat.

Michael fell back, and Sykes shoved him out of the way so that he could get to his feet, gun in hand. "Nice try, Chapman." He was panting heavily.

Kaz got to her feet stealthily, the cleaver still in her hand. She advanced on Sykes quickly, the cleaver raised. But he turned, and seeing her, kicked her feet out from under her. On a deck covered with a mixture of seawater and gasoline, she never stood a chance.

She went down hard, the cleaver flying out of her hands. Rolling onto her back, she looked up. He pointed the gun at her head, his finger on the trigger.

She glared at him defiantly, daring him.

He laughed.

Then he jerked, his face registering surprise. Lurching awkwardly, his fingers sagged, nerveless, as he dropped the gun. Twisting around, he tried to grab the fishhook that was embedded in his back. Staring at Michael, he started to fall, his arms flailing wildly. Landing on the deck railing, his momentum carried him over the side.

Kaz got to her knees and crawled to the rail and peered over, but there was no sign of him in the churning waters.

She slid and scrambled toward Michael. He lay where he'd fallen, his eyes closed. A dark, rapidly spreading pool of blood stained the decking beneath him.

~~~~

Chapter 28

"Michael!" Sobbing, she grabbed the front of his shirt. "Don't you dare die on me, dammit!"

"Okay," he said calmly, not opening his eyes.

"What do you mean, okay? You're bleeding!"

"Yeah, but I got the bastard." He opened an eye and tried to smile at her, then frowned at the blood on her hands. "Are you okay?"

"You're the one who's been shot!" She started pulling at his clothes, ripping open his shirt, feeling along his rib cage.

"My leg," he managed. "I think he got lucky and hit the bone." He tried to rise up on one elbow, but the effort was too much and he sank back, closing his eyes. "Go into the wheelhouse and disconnect the timer before this damn boat goes up."

She glanced back at the wheelhouse, then at Michael. She didn't want to leave him. Taking off her coat, she quickly pulled off her sweater, then her cotton turtleneck. Folding it into a pad, she pressed it to the bloodiest area on his leg. Then she laid her coat over him to conserve his body heat. "Hold the pad in place until I get back."

Getting to her feet, she slipped and slid into the wheelhouse, clad from the waist up only in her bra. She might be freezing, but at least she had less gasoline on her. Grabbing the timer and the pile of rags, she leaned out the door and threw them overboard. Then she started searching for something, anything she could use as a tourniquet.

The Kasmira B rocked to port, hard. She glanced out the window. They'd drifted north, putting them closer to the river bar. The swells were getting huge. Restarting the engines, she turned the trawler into the oncoming waves. Leaving the engines on idle, she ran back out onto the deck.

Spying a length of line, she fetched the cleaver. Kneeling beside Michael, she drew the line around his leg, above the bleeding area, and tied it tight.

"Tighter," he said, his voice more faint than it had been a few minutes ago.

A wave crashed over the railing, its icy foam hissing and bubbling as it engulfed them. Michael sucked in a breath. His body started to shake. He was going into shock. She had to get him out of the water, or he'd die before she could get help.

She used the cleaver to rip his jeans to take a better look—there was a small entry wound about midway up his thigh, and an exit crater on the opposite side. She let out a sob. The leg looked funny—it was bent at an awkward angle. "Is it broken?" she made herself ask.

"Yeah, I think so….feels like it." He managed to get up on one elbow and look at it. "You'll have to tie it tighter, love, or I won't make it back to port."

Ripping her turtleneck in half, she fashioned two pads out of it, then rolled him to press the second one to the back of his leg. She positioned the line over each pad pulled it tighter. He let out a groan. The bleeding slowed but didn't stop. Her makeshift bandages were already turning bright red.

"I've got a better idea," she said. The deck was pitching hard, but if she could manage to get him below... "Come on."

She put an arm around his shoulders and helped him sit up. His face was white, his teeth chattering, his skin clammy with sweat. She had to move fast—he wouldn't be conscious much longer. "Okay, on the count of three, we're going to stand up. You're going to use me as a brace to get down the stairs."

"You're insane, you know that? I've got a perfectly good deck I can lie on right here—"

"A deck that you'll slide right off of when we go over the bar. Plus, I can get your leg elevated down below, and tie you in, in case you conk out."

"Make that cruel and insane." But when she counted, he heaved himself up, leaning heavily on her. "Here you are almost naked," he panted, "and I'm in no shape to follow through."

"I am not amused, Chapman."

They almost lost balance twice before she got him to the stairs. Bracing her body below his and using the stair railing to hold herself upright, he leaned across her as they hopped down the stairs. Once in the galley, she laid him down so that half of his body was on the dining table, then hauled his legs up until he was lying flat. Then as gently as possible, she propped his injured leg on the hanging spice island. The platter was designed to move with the boat's motion, and it would keep his leg immobile.

She raced back up on deck, fetching the roll of duct tape Sykes had left behind. She taped Michael to the table, then taped his leg to the hanging platter. Through it all, Michael kept his eyes closed. His face had lost all color.

Finally, he was immobilized. "Are you still with me?" she whispered.

"…Yeah."

The elevation had slowed the bleeding, but not enough. "I have to tighten the rope again. Hang on." She re-tied it as a slip knot, and tightened the rope by degrees. When he groaned, she cringed but kept going. She tied the rope in a double knot, then yanked a blanket off the berth and threw it over him.

"I've got to get us over the river bar." She rummaged in the locker for a sweater and pulled it on.

"Lucy and Ivar called the Coast Guard….They should be looking for us…" his voice faded.

"Yeah, but Sykes ripped out the handset; I can't get off a signal. And with the weather like this, our best bet is to cross the bar and hope to meet them on the other side." She took a precious moment to lean down and kiss him, then lay her cheek against his. "Try to stay conscious, okay?"

"…yeah." He grimaced, then leered half-heartedly at her. "Liked you better…just the bra."

She laughed softly. "Another time, I promise. I'm going to get you back over that bar, you hear? So no wimping out on me."