Page 86 of The Final Storm
“Hi, Dad,” they call from the back.
“Do not come up here,” I scream at the boys. There’s still the problem of Lindell’s corpse at the front of the boat.
Sam clutches a hand to his chest and sprints back to them, gathering them both into his arms. A strangled sob leaves his throat as he hugs them.
“You’re… crushing us,” Beau says.
“I’m sorry. Don’t you ever run from me like that again. Don’t you ever put yourself in that kind of danger. Why would you-”
“Sam,” Milo calls out. “Dead guy.” He looks down at Lindell’s body.
Sam motions for the boys to stay put, and walks over.
“Stay down there boys,” I tell them again.
“Lindell,” Sam grumbles when he reaches me.
“The boys… um…” I struggle to explain what happened.
“They got away from us,” Sam says. “And then Tank ran in the other direction. Luke is out there looking for them.”
I shake my head. “And I bet he’ll find them at the slingshot.” I point to the hull of the boat, littered with damage.
“What!” Lori shrieks.
“Are we in trouble?” Tucker yells from the treeline. He sneaks into view, Hank and Luke pushing him forward, all without a scratch. Lori runs to them, wrapping her arms around each one in a messy group hug.
“Yes,” she sobs into their arms. “A lot of trouble.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Sam laughs. “They were a good shot with that thing.”
“It’s all we did,” Milo adds, kicking his boot at Lindell’s body. “Those boys love weapons. And that’s a steel-jawed leg trap.”
“We locked it before we swam out,” Beau yells.
“And then we unlocked it,” Lewis grins.
“You’re in trouble, too!” I snap back at them. Although, I’m not sure what for. They followed their instincts and their vision. Lindell is dead, and we might make it out of this mess alive.
“You,” I point to Milo. “You’re in trouble.”
I hear Luke laugh next to Lori, and she gives Morgan to him before she scrambles on the boat.
“They used it right,” Milo argues. His mannerisms clearly argue the point I’m trying to make. To him, they followed his instructions for this weapon perfectly, albeit on a human and not an animal.
A predator still.
“Check his pockets, then throw him over,” Sam tells Milo. “We don’t have time. We need to leave. That storm is at our heels.”
“What about the three left?” Milo asks, rummaging through Lindell’s pockets. “We can take them. Or, I can kill them. Either’s fine. One way has less baggage.”
Milo finishes, taking out handcuffs, some radios, and a mouth gag. I’m so close to vomiting already, and the site of the restraints he planned to use on me makes bile rise in my throat.
Milo lifts Lindell and throws him over the side. He bobs in the shallow water, sinking a bit from the weight of the trap.
“The three?” I question.
“Three left,” Sam tells me. “Dean got some of the two hundred to stake out the island. Watch you maybe. They surrendered pretty quickly. Milo here thought he was on some mercenary mission to kill them all. That’s why he stayed behind.”
