“Now this.”
She took aim with the rifle and shot King in the arm. His punching arm. The one he’d used to beat Hawley. The man screamed. He clutched at the wound with his fingers. Blood ran down his elbow and splattered the deck. “What the hell was that for?”
“For the sharks,” said Loo. Then she spun the rifle in her hands, took hold of the barrel like it was a baseball bat and swung the butt of the gun with all those kill marks against the side of King’s face, a blow as hard as any right hook. The boxer stumbled and she kicked him in the ass with her steel-toed boots as he went over the edge into the water.
Loo hurried over to her father. She wrapped his arm around her shoulder and then hefted him to his feet and dragged him back to the Pandora. She cut the rope and pushed the cruiser off their bow. As the boats drifted apart, she kept the rifle trained on King, watching him try and fail to climb on top of the cruiser, which bubbled and sucked as it sank. At twenty yards, Loo started the engine. It caught and sparked. She shifted gears, and the propeller turned, and they were moving away from the toppled cruiser. Loo took hold of the throttle and turned it all the way up and then there was just the rumbling beneath them and the movement of the waves and the sound of the wooden hull cutting through water. Loo tied the tiller in place to keep them on a straight path. Then she went back to Hawley.
“You missed him,” she said. “I can’t believe you missed.”
“Check for an exit wound,” said Hawley.
She turned him on his side. It felt like a giant weight pressed against his lungs. Her fingers ran over his back and shoulder. “There’s a lot of blood.”
“Bullets,” Hawley said, “usually go right through me.”
“This one didn’t.”
She looked for bandages. She tore them open with her teeth. She pressed the cloth to the hole in his chest. He knew that she wasn’t Lily anymore but Loo didn’t seem like herself, either.
“You’re not hurt?” he asked.
She tapped the vest he had given her.
Hawley closed his eyes in relief. He pressed against the pain branching through every nerve, threading a thousand needles.
“What about Jove?”
They both looked where Jove had fallen, his body tangled with the giant bear. His face was pale but he was still breathing. Loo checked his pulse.
“I don’t know what to do next.”
“We’ll figure it out.” Hawley tried to grab her hand but his fingers slid. She was drenched. Shivering. “Loo,” he said. “You did so good. You did everything right.”
“I couldn’t kill him.”
Hawley squeezed her palm. “I’m glad.”
There was something wrong with her face. He couldn’t tell at first but then he knew.
“Get the bottle,” said Hawley.
“You’re dying,” she said.
“No I’m not,” said Hawley.
Loo pressed another bandage against his chest. Then she reached underneath the seat. The whiskey was still there. She unscrewed the cap and lifted it to his mouth. He could smell the animal fear on her breath.
“No,” said Hawley. “It’s for you.”
Loo took a swig. She coughed but she took another.
“There,” he said. “Still crying?”
“No.”
“Good. Now take us home.”
The boat was rocking but Hawley felt still. The world was righting itself, turning sky to water. Water to sky. He’d spent his whole life pushing upstream, struggling and cutting through the current, forcing himself over waterfalls and dams, and at long last he’d finally stopped beating his ragged tail against the rocks and was sliding in the right direction. Moving with the world instead of fighting against it.
Why didn’t I do this sooner, he thought.
Loo slapped his face. “Stop dying,” she said.
“Troublemaker,” said Hawley. “Your mother would never approve.”
Loo
NIGHT CAME DOWN. IN LESS than an hour Loo could barely see the shadow of her father in the boat. Across the sky was a multitude of stars. There was no moon.
They had lost their radio and navigation. The system box in the cabin was hit when the portholes were blown out. With Hawley’s help she’d used the last gasp of the setting sun to take an initial bearing, but now they’d been traveling for miles in the dark and Loo sensed they’d fallen off course. There was a flashlight in the hold and for half an hour she had held it pressed to her shoulder with her chin while her fingers worked, trying to reconnect the wires, before she gave up and crawled back onto the deck and took the captain’s seat and wrapped her hand around the tiller. She did not know which way to turn or if she should turn at all. But a decision had to be made and there was no one else and so she drove blindly into the dark, hoping she was going in the right direction.
Loo covered Jove with one of the blankets. She’d packed his wound and given him some morphine for the pain. His hands were cold when she touched them. She was afraid that he would die before they reached shore. Her clothes were still wet from going overboard. When the wind picked up she started to shiver. She was the only one in the boat without a bullet in her body.
“Lift his shoulders,” said Hawley.
Loo got another blanket and pushed it beneath Jove’s back so that he was at an angle. “How long do you think he has?”
“Not long.”
“I could shoot another flare.”
“There’s only one left,” said Hawley. “Save it until you see some lights. We’ll run into the Coast Guard eventually.”
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” said Hawley. But when she pointed the flashlight he didn’t look fine. His face was pale and his eyes were unfocused. She took his hand and it was as cold as Jove’s. She found another blanket in the hold and covered him. She got another pressure bandage and wrapped it around his chest. She checked his pulse. It was weak but it was there, a soft signal beating beneath his skin.
“Just rest for a while.”
He didn’t argue. He closed his eyes.