Ripples sliced through the surface. A huge fin emerged. A second followed.
Vern grabbed for his bag and jerked out a grenade. William grabbed the girl and threw her to the bottom of the boat, shielding her.
The grenade plunked into the water. Thunder slapped William’s ears, the blast wave rolling against his skin. The boat careened.
He whipped about, just in time to see Vern dive into the river, aiming for the shore.
The sharks streaked toward the boat, no worse for wear. The leading fish darted up to the surface, flashing the ridge of thick bony plates armoring its back. The damn thing was bigger than the boat.
The rolpies sensed the sharks and flailed, whipping the river into froth. The twin guidelines that secured the animals to the boat went taut, jerking at the metal cleats bolted to the nose. The boat danced up and down.
The girl dropped to the ropes. A small knife flashed.
William jerked his heavy tactical blade from its sheath. “Stop.”
She pulled back, and he chopped through the line in a single cut.
The rolpie leaped out of the water and dove deep. Go, William urged. Go.
He chopped the second line. The severed rope flew, and the second rolpie surfaced in a foamy fountain. Huge jaws pierced the foam. Triangular shark teeth flashed and tore into the rolpie’s side. The creature screamed. The girl screamed, too, pounding her fist on the rail. William ground his teeth.
The shark ripped a bloody slab of flesh from the rolpie’s flank.
William yanked a crossbow stock out of his rucksack and pulled the activation. The stock sprouted arms with a faint click. It was the latest in small arms models, only a foot long, and he was under strict orders not to use it unless absolutely necessary. William jerked back his sleeve, revealing a leather quiver strapped to his forearm, plucked a bolt, loaded in a single smooth move, sighted the fish, and fired.
A white star streaked through the air. The bolt sprouted from the shark’s gills. The bolt head winked with green and exploded in a pulse of magic. The fish launched straight up, out of the river, its black mouth gaping, blood streaming from a hole in the side of its head, and crashed onto its back. The second shark hit the first, spinning it. Blood roiled through the river. The rolpie streaked away, fleeing for its life.
The injured shark thrashed and dived down. The second fish gave chase.
The boat crawled downstream.
William took a deep breath. The rush of the fight still sang through his veins, setting him on fire. He felt alive, more alive than he’d been in the last two years.
The old woman was right. He had forgotten who he was. He was a wolf and a killer.
“Thank you,” the hobo girl said.
“We’re fucked!” Vern announced from the shore.
THE boat drifted downstream at the speed of an invalid snail. Vern had no trouble keeping up even with his bum leg.
“They’re bone sharks. The old kind. They swim up from the Weird sometimes and get trapped in the swamp. Of course they die from fresh water in a week or two, fuckers, but meanwhile they do their damage. It’s over.”
The boat’s bottom slid against soft mud and stopped. About forty feet separated them from the nearest shore and Vern.
“What do you mean, it’s over?” William said. “It’s over when you get me to Sicktree.”
Vern stared at him. “Are you daft? We have no rolpies, which means we’ve got no power and we can’t maneuver for shit. Getting to Sicktree on foot would take days.”
On the edge of William’s peripheral vision, the hobo girl slid into the water. She did it silently, without a splash, and dove under. Even his ears picked up only the slightest hint of sound. The spaghetti queen had hidden talents. Where the hell was she going?
“Look around you, man!” Vern waved his arms. “That ain’t a park out there. That swamp is gonna kill you. The Broken is only a day away by boat and about three by foot.”
Everything that could go wrong . . . “I don’t think so.” William let some snarl into his voice. “I hired you to get me to Sicktree. That’s where we’re going.”
Vern jerked his rifle up. “Get off my boat, you Weird fop.”
William raised his crossbow. “Don’t be stupid.”
Vern sneered. “You ain’t gonna hit me with that toy . . .”
A dark figure stepped out of the reeds behind Vern. A slender foot-long blade slid against his Adam’s apple, reflecting light. William blinked. Smooth.
The hobo girl leaned to Vern’s ear and whispered something.
Vern’s fingers opened. The rifle fell into the mud with a wet splat.
The girl pulled the blade aside. William bared his teeth. She was trouble. Good for her, bad for him.
Vern limped away at top speed, yelling over his shoulder. “I won’t forget this! I won’t. You’ll see.”
The hobo girl hooked the rifle with her foot and kicked it into her hands. The rifle barrel glared at William. “You’re in my boat.”
You’ve got to be kidding me. “You can have this boat. You can have the whole damn swamp for all I care. After I get to Sicktree.”
“That’s a very nice crossbow,” the girl said. “And you’re very good with it. But I can shoot you twice in the time it takes you to load it.”
William bared his teeth. “Want to test that theory?”
She smirked. “Are you sure you want to risk being shot? This bullet would make a very messy hole in your chest.”
William pulled another bolt from the quiver.
The girl aimed to the left of him and squeezed the trigger. A feeble click echoed through the swamp. She popped the rifle open and swore.
“I emptied it last night while the two of you slept.” William sighted her. “Vern didn’t strike me as trustworthy. Looks like I keep the boat.”
She lowered the rifle. “May I ask where you’re going to pilot your new boat?”
“To Sicktree.”