Robert Jones - Blood Tide

He wanted to tell her the truth—that he’d done all this under orders, for the good of mankind, that he was one of the good guys who’d sacrificed a normal, decent life to risk everything for his country. But he didn’t really believe that himself—his motives were based more on excitement than altruism—and anyway, he’d tried to tell her once already, when he thought she was about to kill him. It hadn’t worked then, and even if it did now, it wouldn’t matter to Miranda. Nor could he really blame her.

“Where is your dad?” he asked finally.

“He’s dead. Went down with his ship.” She laughed bitterly, then lashed the wheel again and went below. He could hear the clatter of crockery in the galley, then the whistle of the tea kettle. Her eyes were red and wet from tears when she returned. “I don’t know,” she said, “it’s how he wanted it, I guess. Fire and smoke. Kind of a Viking funeral. But he got what he came for. He got his revenge.” She shrugged.

The sun was sinking fast now toward an empty horizon.

“So what’s option number four?” Curt asked.

“What I’m doing,” she said. “I’ll carry you as far as Zambo or Davao. Get you to a hospital, where they can patch you up. Then you’re on your own. Once you’re all better, you’ll find some scam to work, I’m sure. Some other dumb babe to mess up.”

“Hey,” he objected, “you’re no dumb babe. Look, I really felt—”

“Oh, shut up! You’re a lying, conniving bastard, and you always were. You always will be. Even if you are some kind of undercover cop, you’re still a shit. I suppose it’s the nature of the work, part of the job description. You’re good at it, I’ll give you that.” She kicked him sharply on his wounded leg. He almost yelled out from the sharpness of the pain but bit it off, went bone white under his tan.

“Okay,” he said after a while. “You’re entitled. Can’t blame you a bit. But whether you believe it or not, I am a cop. And you’re right, camouflage is the most important part of the game. But I’m getting out of the game after this one. I don’t expect you to turn cartwheels with joy at that announcement, but just consider this. I’m a quick healer. By the time we get to Zambo or wherever, I probably won’t need a doctor. I could crew for you on the way back across. You’ll need an extra hand to work your way north to the forties and the westerlies. The monsoon season’s just getting started—heavy weather ahead. And you’ve always got option number one still open.”

Miranda stared at him for a long time. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “We’ll see.”

The sun was nearly down now, an orange ball of fire balanced on the rim of the sea—a funeral pyre consuming the dead of the Flyaway Islands.

“I’ll cook us some supper,” she said. She lashed the wheel and went below.

* * *

Far to the west the sea lay littered with the wreckage of battle. Sharks tore at the few remaining bodies they found. Smoldering spars floated spluttering on the waves. Isla Perniciosa loomed dark against the sunset. A charred hatch cover drifted on the current toward the beach near the sub base. The ship rat perched on it, singed and bloody but still alive.

When the hatch cover neared the shore, the rat slipped off and swam through the chop. Ashore, he shook himself dry. Far up the beach wild dogs were eating something large and gray. The rat sniffed the air, then scuttled silently up toward the wire grass. He sniffed again. Yes. Another rat, a female, in heat . . .

He ran west into the night. Behind him in the seaward dark, gallows birds swung low on stiff wings above the waves, their cries wild and mournful over the thud of the surf.

OTHER WORKS BY ROBERT F. JONES

Blood Sport

The Diamond Bogo

Slade’s Glacier

The Man-Eaters of Zamani

Tie My Bones To Her Back

Deadville

The Run to Gitche Gumee

Gone to the Dogs: My Life With My Canine Companions

Dancers in the Sunset Sky

The Fishing Doctor: The Essential Tackle Box Companion

The Hunter in My Heart: A Sportsman’s Salmagundi

African Twilight: The Story of a Hunter

Upland Passage: A Field Dog’s Education

Jake: A Labrador Puppy at Work and Play

Copyright © 2015 by Louise Jones

Originally published in 1990 by The Atlantic Monthly Press.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Skyhorse Publishing, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

Skyhorse Publishing books may be purchased in bulk at special discounts for sales promotion, corporate gifts, fund-raising, or educational purposes. Special editions can also be created to specifications. For details, contact the Special Sales Department, Skyhorse Publishing, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018 or info@skyhorsepublishing.com.

Skyhorse ®and Skyhorse Publishing ®are registered trademarks of Skyhorse Publishing, Inc. ®, a Delaware corporation.

Visit our website at www.skyhorsepublishing.com.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

Cover design by Anthony Morais

Cover photo credit by ThinkStock

Print ISBN: 978-1-63220-580-3

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63450-019-7