Page 84 of The Final Storm
I hear the scratch of something sliding across the deck, quickly drowned out by the wind and the water splashing against the hull. Another flat rock spins across the floor.
His eyes dart around the boat, and so do mine. Lindell creeps closer.
Thud.
Someone’s throwing rocks at the fucking boat.
Someone’s… slinging rocks at the boat.
My lips curve up in a smile at the realization. They’re at the slingshot and what a good shot they’ve become with practice.
Before I can rejoice, I hear a familiar voice behind me.
“Mama,” Beau says. I turn around and don’t see him at first, but soon two blonde heads climb up the side ladder. I’m between Lindell and my boys as panic rises in my throat.
Oh, fuck.
Thud.
Lindell screams at the sound, ripping at his hair with his free hand. He doesn’t see them… yet. I turn to face him and back up to the ladder, hearing their footsteps hit the deck. We’re hidden a bit by the wheelhouse, but once Lindell stops screaming at the ocean for hurling rocks at us, he’ll see.
I wave my arms at them to leave and see Lewis pulling at a chain he places in Beau’s hands. They softly place it on the ground, not making any noise.
Lindell fires his gun at the shoreline, once, twice, then yells again. “Fucking stop.”
We’re being pummeled with rocks now, and one hits the window of the wheelhouse, making the pieces shatter. Lindell’s firing into the woods, but he’s not in the right direction of the slingshot. He’s nowhere close, and I hope that means who operates it is safe.
The last of the chain goes over the side and a large metal trap with serrated teeth is at the end. I shake my head and try to shield the boys with my body. My pulse soars, sending a rush of blood through my veins. I don’t know what to do when they both look up at me with wide eyes.
“Everyone coming aboard?” Lindell’s shrill voice cuts through the wind. He rushes toward us, gun raised with his finger on the trigger. I don’t think when I grab Beau and fling him over the side of the boat, sending Lewis tumbling off the ladder with him. Their arms flail in the air and disappear into the water as his gun fires.
I duck from the sound and slip, falling to the ground. Lindell grabs me, but I fight back, kicking and spitting with everything I have left. Dean wants me alive, and that’s the only reason I don’t have a bullet in my head.
He has me pinned to the ground underneath him, his hot breath on my face, massive weight bearing down on me. He points the gun at my head, and another rock hits the ship, followed by cracking thunder, so loud it vibrates my bones.
“I’m going to cut your boyfriend’s dick off and deliver it to Dean myself,” Lindell says.
My arm is free. He can’t pin it down while he holds the gun to my skull. I reach and feel the metal of the chain. Another clank against the side of the boat and I yank.
“Then I’m going to help Dean tie you up,” Lindell spits in my face. “While he does what he wants with you. He’s done playing nice.”
I keep my eyes on him, making sure he doesn’t look around to notice I’m pulling the chain closer. The wind gusts around us, and I give another pull, praying I’m close to the end.
“You’re dedicated to Dean,” I say. I swallow hard, trying to keep my entire body still except for my one arm. “That won’t save you.”
He laughs, and I feel the edge of the trap under my fingertips and curl my hand around the bottom. Another rock hits the boat, and Lindell closes his eyes from agitation, lowering the gun just enough.
I take my chance.
Flinging the trap up, I slam it on the side of his head. Blood sprays across my face, and the gun falls to the floor.
He doesn’t yell or scream. A gurgling sound escapes his lips, and he leans to the side, his hands clawing at the closed trap that slices into the side of his skull.
His body bucks a few times, and I roll over, grabbing for his gun, and crawl my way out from under his weight.
The rushing wind and crashing waves make the boat rock, and I fumble until I get the gun in my hand and turn.
He’s still, resting on the rusted metal device.
